Oni-senpai
by Paeng
Summary: Studying in a school with a gargantuan student body, Ono Sakurako has done extremely well in keeping herself in the limelight—she had her stellar grades and the Student Council to back her up. Enter, the Trickster. He becomes privy to the person behind the fake smiles and pleasantries. She becomes the perfect remedy to his growing boredom. Instant havoc. Godspeed, Rikkai! — NiouOC
1. Hair to the Throne

**Author's Note:** The authoress reappears four years later. What the heck. TeniPuri will forever be my bae. Niou Masaharu is one sexy enigma. What kind of name is Ono Sakurako. Ramble. Grumble. I am not making sense. In any case, give this story a chance? I hope you enjoy.

 **Warning:** Excessive use of the em-dash. Un-betaed.

 **Disclaimer:** TeniPuri is the brainchild of Konomi Takeshi.

* * *

 **ONI-SENPAI**

* * *

 **Trap 1  
** Hair to the Throne

Ono Sakurako, with hands neatly clasped on top of her desk, appeared to be completely absorbed with the finer points of the committee's current project proposal, when in reality, her mind had long since wandered off to la-la land.

It wasn't because the current Student Council President had a penchant for incoherent speech—highfalutin words lacking in substance—whenever he was subject to criticism. Nor did it have anything to do with her sentiments towards his shortcomings. The reality that he, and here she quotes the words of the female population, "had the face and charms that could put even Helen of Troy to shame", but was not the most reliable when it came to running an elite group created to put an end to the student body's lackluster life. She usually had half a mind to pay attention because she cared enough to clean up after the mess he was about to throw the entire council into, but at the moment, his voice was just a mere buzz in the background.

It also had nothing to do with the lack of interest on council work. If anything, she was more pumped to prove herself capable this year, what with all the hype over the incoming freshmen primed to solidify Rikkai Dai's reign in the tournaments. Even if it has been a full year since she had resolved and succeeded in entering Kanto's top-ranking high school, it still never failed to astonish her how _excessively_ popular the athletes were. The athletic teams had created an entirely different culture within the high school realm. Apart from the scouts who have already blended well with the Rikkai Dai tapestry since time immemorial, the flocks of students that would always be found in the vicinity of afternoon practices—sneering, ogling, or screeching their heads off, as if they had nothing better to do with their lives—would always be an amazing sight to her. And over the course of the school year, she had deduced that the team that reigned supreme above all was the Tennis Club.

Which brought her back to her current state of preoccupation.

As much as she wished it had something to do with the coveted cure for cancer, world peace, or anything noble like that, alas, it all boiled down to the innocuous invitation she received from The Traitor. She was not delighted at the prospect of seeing him again after he cheated on her for that tennis b****. Her heart remained guarded and unwavering. But it was the thought of revenge, a _hah-in-your-face!_ type of rendezvous, that drove her to indecision. Although she took pride in her levelheadedness, she was not foolish to claim that she was impervious to bouts of immaturity every once in a while.

"—no-san?"

She was in the Student Council lounge again, with the rest of the members gazing at her expectantly. Right, what were they talking about?

Beach?

Batch party?

Oh, yeah. The Bachelor.

"Sonoda-senpai's idea is a surefire crowd magnet. It would appeal to the female population as it did in the previous contests." A pleased smile from the Student Council President. "But as tempting as it is to have all the girls vie for one guy's attention, I don't think that will be enough to get us out of the red." She noticed the downward twitch of Sonoda's lips, but expertly glossed the moment over with her own smile. "The idea's good, but if we want to meet our quota, we'll have to expand outside of Rikkai and get other schools to participate."

Sonoda looked bummed. "What are you proposing, Ono-kun?"

"The obvious route is to organize a school-wide fair." She saw several nods of approval. "But, personally, I believe it is impractical. To spearhead such an event, we will only lose more than we can gain, time and resource-wise. There's no guarantee that we will reel in a big audience, not to mention get willing schools to participate, since individual schools can go about their annual school fair and gain the same amount of profit."

She received an appraising nod from Furuki, the Treasurer, then continued.

"We need to bring something fresh to the table. Something that will benefit all parties and, in turn, attract a mammoth crowd."

She paused for emphasis, fully aware of everyone's bated breath.

"I say we tap the athletic teams."

The rest of the meeting passed like a blur as they spent the entire afternoon improving the proposal. She figured she has done sufficiently, but remained receptive to the questions thrown her way. During the times Sonoda would take the floor and jabber for the next half hour or so, she would run through all the possible outcomes of meeting up with The Traitor. What were the pros and cons? What were the chances of successfully humiliating him? At the end of the day, what mattered most was if she was going to benefit from it all.

Then she remembered he boasted about being accepted into the tennis team the previous year.

Well, that sealed the deal.

* * *

Niou was not so much a fan of introspection as studying the pertinent points of the human psyche, which was imperative in order to perfectly execute his schemes. But as he positioned his arm, all-ready to throw the dart towards the red target with an expert flick of his wrist, he knew he had to get himself out of the vortex, this downward spiral towards _boredom_. He wasn't entirely certain how it started, given he rarely gave himself time to think about such trivial matters when there were schoolwork and tennis to preoccupy himself with. But the feeling was there, like an unidentifiable itch, or a sense of foreboding whenever a storm was on its way. A few more futile throws, then it dawned on him.

It was the routine.

He hit the bulls-eye.

After claiming his prize—a disguise set—and slinging his tennis bag atop his shoulder, he stepped out of the game corner and into the bustling streets of Tokyo. The whole block was blaring party music, and rainbow-colored fluorescent lights flickered in sync with the beat. A glance at his wristwatch told him he only had an hour and a half left to catch the last train, but instead of heading straight for the station, he trudged the opposite way, squeezed himself through the horde of nightwalkers, and eventually ended up in a coffee shop in the corner.

A few minutes later, he had a steaming cup of cappuccino beside his newly-purchased book entitled, _"Knock, knock. Who's There? Craftsmanship"_ propped open in front of him. There was silence, with occasional glances at the drunk passersby frolicking on the streets. After poring over one last page, he shut the book with finality and enjoyed what remained of his drink. Lucky for him, his window seat was a good vantage point, permitting him to view everything occurring on the street.

It was an uninspiring crowd that night. A couple of employees rushed past to get to their business, possibly hoping to catch the last train. A group of painted females with their designer bags strolled along the boardwalk with a distinct sashay of their hips. He wasn't surprised when a few rugged onlookers got on their feet and followed suit, and he could only imagine what sort of havoc was about to take place in one of the dark alleys somewhere. He could also make out two silhouettes in front of a motel. He zeroed in on the pair and figured it was a couple in a heated argument. The boy had the girl pinned to the wall, but the girl calmly looked on and muttered something to his face.

A flurry of movements.

Then they were both out of the alley and on the boardwalk, his firm grip on her arm keeping her from escaping.

He felt the vibration in his pocket, and brought out his cellphone.

 _From: Akuma-nee  
Subject: Cow's piss_

 _Buy two cartons of low-fat milk on your way home, will you? Front door's locked and all windows are already shut. Get yourself in somehow._

He stepped out of the shop—just in time to see the girl throw her handbag towards her oblivious boyfriend—and made a beeline for the convenience store.

* * *

" _Car Crash Caused By Long Hair Getting Caught in the Steering Wheel"_ (1)

Ono has read about that nineteen-year-old girl in Italy who, upon opening her car window and letting in a gust of wind, got her long hair tangled up in the steering wheel. As the title implied, it led to her untimely death. It was so abrupt, so unexpected that it made her think how fleeting life really is. But that wasn't the point she was driving at. It was more mundane, really.

There was another one, a physics major from Yale, who got her hair stuck inside the rotating axis of a rudimentary machine as she worked on her project in her school garage. She died, of course. Personally, she thought it was careless of her _not_ to tie her hair while working around dangerous machinery. Laboratory protocols, anyone?

In any case, her argument was simple: that accidents _do_ happen, even to the most well-guarded people. To err is human. So others shouldn't be so quick to judge.

Because as she leaned down to scoop up the belongings she haphazardly (and successfully) hurled towards the pathetic excuse of a man she cajoled to aid her in her ploy against the Traitor, the night breeze suddenly swept past her, sending her skirt fluttering and leaving her hair in a tangled mess. She also just so happened to have the misfortune of standing beside an overgrown shrub, one with several annoyingly pointy branches—why were there such huge-ass ornamental plants blocking the pathway, anyway?!—and _go figure._

So her hair, a whole chunk of it to be exact, was entangled with the branches of the damn shrub. To the onlookers, she was in a pretty awkward pose, with her backside proudly jutted upward like the Japanese flag during morning ceremony.

She didn't know how or why it was even possible for hair to get so tangled up because of a waft of air—even she could blow harder than that!—but,

Shit happens.

She finally got on her knees and reached out to work on untying one of the locks. The items scattered on the concrete was forgotten. She ignored the leers she received from passersby as her micro-mini skirt inched up past her thighs and dangerously closed in on her hips until there was almost nothing left for the imagination. Her focus was on the knot that was her hair. All cares thrown out the window, and zero shit given.

It was a shitty night, and it couldn't possibly get any shittier.

Perverts be damned.

"Do you need help?"

 _Wasn't that bloody obvious enough_ , she thought, but instead, looked up and pouted. To the ill-fated stranger, she closely resembled a kicked puppy. "Yes, I'm kind of in a pinch, actually."

The gentleman was kind enough to collect her belongings that were all over the street, and then settled down beside her to work on another knot in her hair. A light conversation ensued, and she had been gracious to humor him, lest he decided to leave her on her own. Then she became well aware of the _accidental_ touches to her leg and the gazes that lingered far too long. But she played her charade, played it so excellently that it wasn't long before the young man's boldness had taken over, and he splayed his palm on the expanse of her thigh.

A distinct shudder, which he passed off to the coldness of the night.

She propped her leg up, to his disgusting delight, and allowed his hand to slither along her thigh and down to the ground before she dug the heel of her stiletto on his open palm. After threatening him with a non-existent black belt in Karate and a call to the police—identifying him as Makoto Shuya which she could read out from the tag partially covered by his coat—she was once again left to her own devices.

"It must be so comfortable."

She instantly perked up, composing herself.

"Oh, definitely," she said flippantly. "I can sit here all night and just enjoy the view."

"Such an amazing display of optimism in the face of distress. I'm moved," he remarked just as flippantly and dropped his jacket on her lap.

She finally looked up, noting with alarm that her would-be savior had shocking silver hair. She was even more alarmed when he knelt down beside her, and produced a pair of scissors from his pocket.

"W—what are you doing?"

Although it was pretty obvious to her what he was planning on doing.

He smiled.

"The plant looks like it needs a trim."

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku was in high spirits that morning as hundreds of students filled the gymnasium for the Opening Ceremony. Ono, alongside the rest of the Council, was positioned at the entrance, pleasantly greeting the new students while brandishing the Student Council armband in blazing red and gold. The stream of students passing near Sonoda were completely enamored by his charms that she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the way the girls crooned at whatever gibberish he was spouting. But it really wasn't her place to put him down, not when she herself was facing a "crisis".

Apparently, Rikkai students were now experts on hairdressing.

Because the moment she stepped foot on school grounds that morning, her bob (2) had warranted unwanted criticism and attention from her peers, which she skillfully dealt with using discomfited giggles and a ghost of a smile, as if she was uncomfortable with the attention, when in fact, she secretly reveled in it. Oh, she wasn't particularly a fan of her new hairdo, per se, but the spotlight was most welcome.

When bombarded with questions such as, "Why'd you cut your hair, Ono-san? I thought your long hair suited you just fine."

In response, she would merely tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, flash a soft smile and redirect her gaze towards her feet, as if the reason behind her haircut was too tender to broach. "I guess I just wanted to start fresh," she would state with such diffidence that would warrant even more interest, but deep down, she was raging at the remembrance of the incident at Shibuya.

"Was it a bad break up that you had to go chop it all off?"

"I—it really has nothing to do with that," she stuttered and averted her eyes elsewhere for full effect.

Does that nameless prick even know how difficult it is to grow hair and make sure it stayed healthy?! More importantly, it pissed her off that her popularity among the male population was already doomed to plummet even before the new school year began. The latest fashion trend favored long-haired brunettes, and of course, teenagers went batshit crazy over those things. It was all about the hair.

Her long hair full of secrets.

"It's his loss he failed to see how special our Ono-kun really is," Sonoda cut in, grinning at her nosy classmates. "I think it looks great on her."

She mentally gagged, but her smiling face was flawless. "You're too kind, Sonoda-senpai."

She would like to master the art of blushing at will, just to accentuate moments such as this, but you simply can't have everything in life. The way they were looking at her with such sympathy, she decided it would have been overkill, anyway.

And so the ceremony officially started. Sonoda was ushered on stage to give his welcome remarks on behalf of the juniors and seniors, which earned him a boisterous round of applause. Ono had to admit that the guy had his shining moments. The Council followed suit and introduced themselves, and when Ono and the others were back on their seats, the first year representative was called up to give his speech.

"Hey, hey! There's our guy!" Kobayashi tugged on her arm.

When the freshman climbed up, a wave of murmurs erupted from the crowd, and there was no wonder why. The boy had an air of propriety and possessed such incredible charisma, albeit quiet and non-flamboyant, that you simply can't _not_ look at him.

"Yukimura Seiichi," Kobayashi whispered. "In Junior High, people referred to him as the Child of God."

What kind of bullshit, self-righteous nickname was that?

Nonetheless, when third period ended and she was on her way to the cafeteria with her friends, she immediately spotted him in the crowd. He was not alone, which did not surprise her at all, and was currently in deep conversation with two other boys who were probably his classmates.

She put on her best smile—not too soft that she would fail to give off a strong impression, but not too wide either for fear of intimidating them. But soon enough, she didn't think they could be intimidated, given the way they carried themselves, the steady confidence in their gait, plus the wide berth the rest of the freshmen seemed to be all too happy to give them. It was a modern representation of Moses and the red sea, if she were to describe it succinctly.

"…seemed to have injured his hand—"

"Hello," was her general greeting, her eyes zeroing in on Yukimura. "Yukimura-kun?"

Yukimura was not startled to have been specifically addressed, "Hello, Ono-senpai. Can I do anything for you?"

She smiled radiantly, then turned to his companions. "You seem to be occupied at the moment, but I was hoping I can meet with you after class today. It's rather important."

He looked curious now. "Of course."

"The selection matches," the stern-looking boy beside him spoke up, and regarded her neutrally.

Ah, the tennis club.

"It's okay, Genichirou," Yukimura's voice was like velvet. "I'll make it on time."

"I apologize for imposing, but I assure you, it won't take long," she said with calculated sincerity, her smile softening into something more apologetic.

The boy named Genichirou relaxed visibly.

"What's this? Yukimura's already receiving a confession on the first day?" A red-head appeared by their side all of a sudden, eyeing her with mild interest. "Ah! It's the Student Council!"

Then she saw it.

That familiar flash of silver.

He had been observing everything from a short distance, sporting the same brazen look he had on his face before he committed the atrocious crime against her. The tableau was painted in her head: the invaders finally breached the kingdom's walls and made a run for the palace, where the Queen sat on her throne.

She was stripped bare.

Because _he knows._

He waved, flaunting his bandaged hand.

"Yo, Oni-senpai." (3)

It took all of her willpower not to bolt right there and then.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm distressed because I fear for Niou's characterization. I've done my fair share of research, but I'm still not confident! Sobs. Care to leave a review and tell me what you think? Is the story interesting so far? Boring? How's Ono? Also, NIOU. Dear Lord, I don't want to butcher him.

 **PS:** Any kind soul who's willing to offer their body—err, I mean, beta-services? Just PM me. You will be loved!

 **Extras:**

(1) These are legit, my friends. Try googling.  
(2) If you want to see how Ako's hair looks like, chopped, here's the link: prettydesigns dot com / popular-bob-haircuts-short-hairstyles-trends / stylish-short-black-bob-hairstyle /  
(3) According to Japanese folkore, "Oni" refers to the demon associated with all kinds of evil and distressful emotions. How witty of you, Haru-kun.


	2. Bitch in the Mud

**Author's Note:** I apologize for the delay. Real-life shit got in the way. Just realized that rhymed, yay? Hopefully, this chapter will clear out whatever confusion you had in the first chapter. Read on!

* * *

 **Trap 2  
** Bitch in the Mud

Had it been any other day, Niou would have managed to wheedle himself out of running laps under such sweltering heat. But when Yukimura explicitly tells you he will persuade the captain to remove you from the roster of players in the upcoming tournaments if ever word gets to him that you skipped out just because you injured your hand, which was your fault in the first place. Well. There really was nothing else to be done.

Nonetheless, despite the unfavorable conditions he had to endure, he was amused. Very, very amused.

First day of classes has always been a tumultuous affair, especially for first years of a topnotch High School, such as Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku. Throw in good-looking, clean-cut individuals who believe they're God's gift to man, not-so-airheaded jocks who wear their personal brand of grandstanding by recounting all the tournaments they have won in Middle School at any given moment, and the silent "geniuses" who think everyone else with a runny mouth is beneath them, and you'll find yourself a human version of a pigsty.

It was a battle of pigheadedness, really.

Being the crème de la crème of High Schools in the Kantou region would undoubtedly reel in aspirants of notable caliber from all over the area. Not to mention, going through the arduous paperwork, allotting time to attend night review classes, plus taking and passing an entrance exam that can displace the diamond in Moh's Scale of Hardness were themselves such great feats that those who have surpassed thousands of other applicants from all over Japan were already branded impressive by others. But therein lies the paradox within the Rikkai culture, and he quotes, "In a place where everyone is super, no one is."

Nonetheless, the pool of achievers—either academically, athletically, musically-inclined, or all three—does not discount the fact that an assortment of characters have congregated together for his expediency. Which is also tantamount to pure entertainment, in his case.

Although he had to admit that, sometimes, it was all so very cliché.

And first day was no different.

He was conveniently seated at the very back of his class, particularly at the rightmost corner nearest the doors, so he had the perfect view of everything and the perfect escape route in case of an "emergency". He was well aware of the keen interest he had elicited from his female classmates over homeroom, characterized by the few shy glances thrown his way, whereas the more bold and verbose ones would try to engage him in small talk, and he would so eloquently respond with, "Puri." The variety of reactions would range from downright mystified to entertained, and when introductions commenced before morning roll call, he had introduced himself as Miyawaki Motoharu.

Sanada glared at him from his seat, but said nothing.

By the end of homeroom, Niou Masaharu was fondly branded The Trickster, which he approved of.

That's how the human world worked, you see, how society responded to labels, either self-claimed or imposed upon them. If you are pegged as an Achiever, there would always be that expectation of excellence, all things bright and beautiful. The same goes for every other label that existed.

It was only a matter of whether the stereotyped would break or go along with it.

Which led him to the subject of his amusement—an entire day of observation was enough to give him an overview of what was apparently the Council's full reign over the student body. And it was more than interesting to note how the entire Rikkai Dai viewed Ono Sakurako.

If Yukimura was labelled the Child of God—and up to this day, Niou had yet to find something, anything to refute that statement—Ono was the undisputed Queen of Hearts. It was hilarious how the populace was very willing to eat that all up, and in its own right, it was impressive how despite being a junior, her claws extended right into the heart of the seniors and the faculty. He was thinking that perhaps that Student Council President, whose affection for the girl was as obvious as a beam of flashlight in the dark, had a hand in her overbearing popularity. After all, Rikkai Dai's student population bordering on thirty hundred was no joke, and in order to make yourself visible, you either had to be a titan or related to the said titan.

But after watching her flit from one area of the courtyard to another, where both small cliques and lost freshmen loitered—the rooftop had the perfect view of the grounds—he figured that tagging along Sonoda was an unneeded boost to her pursuit of recognition. Unlike Yukimura whose natural charm preceded his prowess and captaincy in tennis, Ono's charm was cleverly enforced, albeit subtly.

All in all, very effective.

Moreover, things were easy for her because she was essentially easy on the eyes, with a pleasing smile that balanced her sharp, cat-like gaze. She was not oblivious to her good looks, and did not hesitate to use it to her advantage. After their encounter in the corridor during lunchtime, he had seen with his own two eyes how the freshmen literally scrambled on their feet to greet her with a bow that was as stiff as a ramrod when she had glanced towards their general direction and smiled.

He would have snorted, but the sad reality was Ono Sakurako's acting was very convincing.

If it wasn't for Shibuya, he would have passed her off as just another popular upperclassman who he would have avoided for reasons of becoming victim to a ray of unwanted spotlight. And if that was the case, as much as he acknowledged that there was depth to most people, he simply would have not cared to know much about her.

But reality begged to differ.

Ono was the Queen in this game, and to bring down someone on top of the so-called "social hierarchy" would be an impressive feat. Plus, he would address his recurrent problem of boredom, so he would have hit two birds with one stone. And that suited him superbly.

Niou slumped down on one of the benches, arching his back against the seat and stretching out his legs in front of him as he tried to catch his breath. The wide expanse of courts resounded with heavy grunts as the rest of the regular aspirants swung their rackets in one unified motion, whereas a couple of juniors preoccupied themselves with preparations for the ranking tournaments—blackboards, orange cones, and ball machines made ready. He then reached for his water bottle and chugged its contents in one gulp before zeroing in on the rest of his teammates.

"Dear God, I didn't think it was possible," Marui said in between pants, slowing down and ultimately falling on his knees as he reached for his water jug. "Buchou's an even bigger monster that Sanada—"

The rest had to stifle their laughter when Sanada glared Marui to silence. "Show some respect, Marui!"

"So what really happened to your hand?" Yagyuu took the space beside him, eyeing his partner's neatly-wrapped bandages.

Niou finished his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of the same hand which Yagyuu had shamelessly stared at, as if to prove to him that it was just fine. "I remember telling you I got stabbed by a pickpocket in Shibuya."

"It didn't look like a knife wound to me." Yagyuu concluded thoughtfully as he wiped his glasses with the end of his shirt, distinctly remembering the almost ellipsoid shape of the wound he tended to last night. "Anyway, I left the milk in the refrigerator."

"I'll drop by your house after practice." Niou sighed, throwing his face towel over his shoulder, and expertly side-stepping his comment about the wound. He would have to brace himself when he got home that night—his sister would undoubtedly bitch at him for failing to deliver.

Yagyuu hummed, replacing his glasses atop the bridge of his nose. "It's a pity you won't be able to join the ranking tournaments."

The corner of Niou's lips twitching imperceptibly did not escape him.

"Eh. I have plenty of other things to preoccupy myself with."

If it was Yagyuu's nature to roll his eyes, he would have, but instead he settled with a soft sigh. He would have told his doubles partner to keep out of trouble, but with Niou, it would simply be like talking to a brick wall.

* * *

While Sanada fussed over Yukimura's whereabouts, Niou took the time to slip beside Yanagi, who was currently in the middle of writing in his data notebook.

"Oi, Yanagi."

"Hm?" He did not look up.

"Do you have data on the Student Council?"

There was a long pause before he got a response. "Interesting."

Niou assessed his teammate silently, wondering what that one word reply meant.

Yanagi shut his notebook with finality and looked up. "Why do you want to know?"

"Why do you think I want to know?" Niou retorted.

There was a knowing glint in the Professor's eye, though how Niou was able to see that when Yanagi's eyes were in slits was beyond anybody. "A whopping seventy-nine point fifty-four percent chance it's because of Ono-senpai."

"What of the remaining twenty point forty-six?"

"Know thy enemy. The Council can prove to be a formidable force when it comes to your… future endeavors."

Niou expected nothing less from one of the three demons. "So do you have it, or do you have it?"

"Borderline leaning towards positive." Yanagi rummaged for one of the smaller notebooks in his duffel and handed it over to Niou. "Considering it's only the first day, I have had limited opportunities to conduct a thorough observation of the four members, all of which are upperclassmen, of course. So what I have at the moment is based purely on hearsay and the limited investigation I was able to manage."

"That's fine."

Niou flipped through the pages of the notebook, and noted with dissatisfaction that the contents did not yield anything he didn't already know. It was interesting, however, that Yanagi's notes on Ono was severely averse to his own deductions—which either meant that Yanagi's fact-finding prowess was dwindling, or Ono was truly a force to be reckoned with. But it would be hasty to make assumptions at this point in time; he would have to give the Data Master a few days or weeks, tops, unless uncovering her mask would prove to be such an impossible task.

He didn't really mind extending an helping hand, if this was the case.

Niou returned the filler to Yanagi, who all this time, had been wordlessly scrutinizing him.

"What are you up to, Niou?"

"Just wanted to know if the Council are fans of Bagel Head," (1) was Niou's smooth reply, which was basically his way of punctuating the conversation. "One last question."

Yanagi quirked an eyebrow.

"Do you know if there are any gang leaders here in Rikkai?"

* * *

Ono wasn't usually the type to wallow.

First, because it was pointless. And she was anything but profligate, always conscious of the time and effort she invests in all her activities. Secondly, for mundane reasons which she seemed to have a penchant for as of late, wallowing always reminded her of pigs, and she didn't really want to be associated with them.

So today proved to be out of the ordinary because she found herself thinking, worrying, and generally, wallowing in her own puddle of paranoia.

The dismissal bell rang a quarter of an hour ago, and after hastily but pleasantly excusing herself from her peers with pretexts of piled up council work, she had traversed the halls of the junior floor even before the throng of students could clog the stairways to either head home or attend to their own club activities. She wanted to avoid the crowd, lest she was held up by unwanted company, but really, it was because she didn't think she was in the right state of mind to expend much energy on pretenses right now.

After purchasing two bottles of green tea from the nearby vending machine, she was finally, safely within the four corners of the Student Council room. And as expected, it was empty, what with the rest of the members busy with their own club activities—Sonoda in drama, Kobayashi in cheerleading, and Furuki in calligraphy—she has yet to join one, but that really wasn't her main concern at the moment.

That cocky, silver-haired bastard was.

She usually was very careful when it came to her predilection for late-night meanderings, often if not always several train stations away from where the usual Rikkai Dai hangouts were. Although she has had several close encounters with schoolmates in random clubs and bars in Tokyo and even as far as Shinjuku, her get-ups always abutted on the extremes—heavy make-up, skimpy outfit and a resting bitch face which was a far cry from the image she portrayed in school—that to anyone who might have a sliver of recognition of who she was, would think twice, and eventually accept that she was just another face in the crowd.

One whole year, and someone has yet to peg her for Ono Sakurako, the paragon of excellence and good moral character in Rikkai.

Enter, the jerk.

To be honest, her haircut was the least of her problems—she could always devise ways to rock the bob cut and, perhaps, if it was not too ambitious, make it the trend in school. But the reality that someone had an idea of what she was doing after school hours, and was, most importantly, privy to the person behind the mask she had so conscientiously crafted over the year was enough to send her knees shaking.

And she had made quite an strong impression last night because after he had so kindly given the shrub a "trim"—her long, gorgeous locks which had lain in an unceremonious heap on the concrete—she was generous enough to return the favor. Despite her usual cool countenance, she actually had a really bad temper. It was only a matter of discipline and willpower that she was always able to keep herself from combusting.

Stilettos and the hand that did it all. Go figure.

"Ono-senpai, are you alright?"

Yukimura was standing by the doorway.

"Yes." It was a knee-jerk reaction—smoothed out expression and her best smile. "Just a bit tired from reading through all the club proposals. The start of the school year usually means bloody meetings on budget allocation. It's even bloodier at this point since the member in-charge filed a leave of absence because of family matters."

Yukimura sat beside her on the couch, and she handed him one of the bottles from the vendo.

"It's not so cold now."

"It's alright. Thank you," Yukimura was quick to assure. "If you're burdened by all this, I can assume you're currently the one in-charge."

Ono sighed delicately, as if breathing out any stronger would extinguish whatever energy she had left. "I'll have to hold out until we find someone who can replace him."

"Aren't any of the current committee chairmen willing to step up?"

Ono just shook her head, looking perfectly despondent, as she took a small sip from her drink. She allowed the silence to stretch out and merely watched Yukimura from the corner of her eye—she noted triumphantly that the freshman boy seemed to be deep in thought. The corner of her lips twitched upward as she drank in silence.

Yukimura looked at her knowingly.

"What did you want to talk with me about, senpai?"

Yukimura was a smart boy—he knew what it was she wanted, but knew he was treading on thin ice. Best to surge on carefully, better not to offend senpai, he thought.

She schooled her face into something more serious.

"I was wondering if you'd fill up the position, Yukimura-kun."

He smiled, not at all surprised, and instead thoroughly amused. "I'm flattered that you handpicked me out of the thousands of students, but I think there are others who are more… qualified for the job."

Ono had to stop herself from scoffing. "Do you really believe that?"

A small smile was all she got as a response, and she was left to believe that, no, he didn't think that, but he'd rather not go through all the trouble.

"It isn't my intention to force anything on you, or pressure you," she started, her expression now taking on a more apologetic hue. "But I didn't just randomly pick you from the crowd." She reached for a thick manila envelope from a neatly stacked pile atop her desk. "This is a list of all the projects approved by the Board Members over the summer. Upon perusal, you'll notice that there are various things that might catch your interest."

She paused, just letting him quickly sift through some of the pages.

"I've heard of your great feats in the junior high tennis circuit, and I understand that you prioritize tennis above anything else. For fifteen years, the tennis club has always had the biggest budget among all the other clubs, and rightly so, if we were to weigh in all the championships you managed to bring home," she continued. "I was recently informed that you are part of the Beautification Committee this year, and was the previous Chairman in Junior High," (2) Another sip from her bottle. "What I… hope to achieve this school year is a stronger, more united Rikkaidai. I want the other clubs to flourish as much as the Tennis Club has, and I wholeheartedly believe you can help us achieve that, Yukimura-kun."

Yukimura was silent all this time, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall. He remained unruffled, however, which Ono took pleasure in. She loved his composure, loved the quiet strength that emanated from him despite the image he projected.

"Before blindly dismissing this opportunity, I want you to really think hard about it. Please."

She brandished the folder in her hands, and simply waited with bated breath—she didn't know how long time elapsed, two, three seconds—before Yukimura eventually plucked the folder from her grasp and said, "Okay."

Ono mentally pumped her fist in the air. "Okay, as in… you accept the position?"

Yukimura's soft laughter gave birth to an inordinate wave of warmth in her gut, as much as she hated to admit it. Jeezus, was there a limit to this kid's charm?

"Okay, as in I'll think about it."

That was more than enough.

"You should get going, then." She stood up, and Yukimura followed suit. "You still have your ranking tournaments?"

He nodded as he got to his feet, and gave her a respectful bow. She did the same, and had to resist the urge to extend her arm and pat him on the head, like she would have done towards a cute puppy. Was it a crime that she wanted to have a miniature-sized Yukimura and keep him in her pocket?

* * *

There were only a couple of students lingering in the campus by the time she left the Student Council office. It was nearing five-thirty then, and she took note that the thinning crowd mostly consisted of incumbent officers of the different Culture Clubs, who were in the middle of preparations for member recruitment taking place the entire week.

Exchanging pleasantries with schoolmates and faculty members has become part of her routine, and admittedly, she took the greatest pleasure whenever someone would holler at her from the opposite end of the hallway just to extend his greetings, or purposely walk up to her and help her carry a think wad of worksheets to the faculty room. It was not the attention she savored above all, but the power she held over them.

Over time she had grown to believe that everybody was inclined to like the nice guys, felt uninhibited in the presence of the warm and friendly. So this was the persona she judiciously perfected over the past year, and it had served her well.

If she really thought about it, the appearance of the silver-haired freshman was only a minor setback in the grander scheme of things because she has long established her position on top of the student body. She believed she had enough influence to change the tides. That any sort of problem brought about by her carelessness can be effectively dealt with, and any form of uprising against her reign became negligible.

It was his word against hers.

So, in reality, she really had nothing to worry about.

She had finally reached the end of the hallway when she felt the vibration in her pocket, and at once, the calm she had just claimed for herself was washed out by the words flashing on her cellphone screen.

From: The Traitor  
Subject: My apologies

She realized that there was a slight tremor to her hand as she scanned the rest of the email. And it went:

I'm sorry about last night. I didn't think preparations for the tournaments would take up so much time that by the time I left Hyotei, I realized it was too late and you would have gone home. If you're willing, I can pick you up from school today after tennis practice. I'll even treat you dinner since it's my first day as Tennis Captain.

She had to take deep, even breaths to calm herself down.

The gall of him to even suggest meeting up again after he bailed on her last night! After she had gone through all the effort of procuring herself a pseudo-date, with hopes of making him feel the same way she felt when he saw him in his moment of treachery? She donned an uncomfortable micro-mini skirt while walking around Shibuya, escaped a number of harassment in the form of rough pushes against walls of dark alleys, accidental touches from lecherous hands, most notably lost her hair in the process, and was very much at risk of being usurped by—by a hooligan just because he failed to keep track of time?

Who did this guy think he was?!

She exhaled, the fog in her mind clearing.

He was Asao Tatsuya, the heir apparent to one of the biggest conglomerates in all of Japan, which was a shadow of the Mitsui—one of the "Big Three" zaibatsu—whose claws extended into different financial sectors of the country, and whose roots have stemmed way back into the Meiji Era.

And she needed him.

Fuck this life.

She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and then typed furiously on the keypad.

To: The Traitor  
Subject: Apology accepted

There's no need for you to pick me up. Just meet me at Café Bon at six… then we're quits.

She didn't expect the reply to come so soon, and unwittingly found herself scoffing upon reading the message:

From: The Traitor  
Subject: It's a date

Practice will start soon. Gotta show them the moves. Hopefully, that would keep that brat Atobe in line. Wish me luck.

She didn't.

It was to her utmost annoyance when a piece of grid paper, possibly ripped from the pages of a notebook, danced around in circles like a fallen sakura petal as soon as she opened her locker. She picked it up from the floor and read:

Dear Sakurako-chan,

I've been watching you from afar for quite some time.  
And only recently have I realized the depths of my feelings for you.  
Meet me at the rooftop after your Student Council meeting.  
I'll be waiting.

She crumpled the piece of paper, and swiftly made her way to the rooftop.

Better get this over with.

* * *

The rooftop was empty.

There was only one plausible explanation: she was too late that the person had decided she was not worth the wait, contrary to what was mentioned, and decided to go home. That's what she would have done, anyway. So without further thought about the letter, its anonymous sender and the promise of a confession, she was headed right back through the doorway…

"Puri."

She halted.

A look over her shoulder, and she was met with the fiercest blue eyes she has had the encounter of seeing, eyes like daggers which ripped right through her fabricated front, leaving her bare. For a fleeting moment, all she could do was gape profoundly, with a vague resemblance to a fish.

Only when he chuckled, thoroughly amused with watching her struggle to regain composure, was she able to gather her wits, clicking her jaw shut and allowing herself to assume the role she has always played, her expression fashioned into something more mild, bordering on befuddled and overwhelmed.

"Were you the one who sent the letter?" Her voice was meek, but deep down, she was a whirling hurricane picking up speed, growing bigger and bigger as the moments passed.

He grinned, and said offhandedly, "What letter?"

She knew right there and then she was tricked.

Without sparing him another word, she was out of the rooftop, lumbered down several flights of stairs, and finally emerged out into the courtyard where only a handful of students roamed about, most of them members of sports clubs whose practices she assumed had just finished. She slowed her pace, catching her breath and wiping whatever vestige of alarm was on her face as she tried to blend in with the crowd for once.

And it was a peculiar crowd that afternoon, she thought, as they flocked and hampered the gates. Anyone with half a brain would easily deduce that something was not right.

"Ako-san! Thank God, you're here!" Her classmate looked panicked.

"What's happening?" she asked, making a beeline for the gates as the rest of her schoolmates made way for her. She could see Yukimura and his teammates in the crowd as well, most of them looking positively animated instead of nonplussed about everything that's happening. The tallest of the bunch even had a video camera with him, taking live footage of—

"Sakurako-san."

She stopped in her tracks, taking in the scene that awaited her by the gates.

It was Kiriyama Madoka, a senior in Rikkaidai.

Who also just so happened to be one of the infamous gang leaders of Shibuya.

Holding a bouquet of flowers.

With his entire gang donning their most intimidating outfits, armed with their arsenals of wooden bats and metal cranes.

For the second time that day, she was completely floored.

"I read your letter," he started, his voice surprisingly smooth for someone so gruff-looking. Holy hera—she didn't think she'd witness the day the feared Kiriyama would be blushing to roots end—but more importantly, what in the nine circles of hell was he prattling about?!

He cleared his throat, and read (3),

Bodies together  
Pressed against the cold, harsh night  
We hold onto love

There was a chorus of whoops at those words, and Ono just stood there. Genuinely flummoxed. Like she had just received word that in a month's time she would grow another head because of the extra spoonful of sugar she put in her coffee that morning.

In the sweet, soft spring  
We lay on the tall, steep hill  
And hold on to love

Summer's baking heat  
Hiding in the shade of trees  
Still holding our love

The leaves are falling  
Crunching beneath our footsteps  
Forever, our love

We'll last through the seasons  
Enjoy our love together  
Just you wait, my love

The struggle was most legit this time. She had to keep herself from gaping like a fish again—she was more wary now considering she had an audience—but the redness of her face was unmistakable, which was not so much a gesture reflecting her being flattered as the anger and embarrassment she was trying very hard to keep from surfacing.

A movement from Kiriyama, which brought her back to her senses. He was rummaging for something in his pocket.

"I understand you had a pretty shitty past relationship, but I swear it'll be different this time around..." His hand wielded a lock of hair, which at a closer note, was suspiciously the same shade and gloss—no, she wouldn't even dare think about the possibility of it being—

"...to do this for me..."

Waitwaitwait—

"...I accept your heart, Sakurako-san." (4)

OHMYGODHESNIFFEDIT

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Thoughts, anyone? I have a lot for this particular chapter, actually. And feels, too. Hahahuhu.

 **Extras:**

(1) If you haven't heard of it before, type in "bagel head" on Google and be amazed.  
(2) I actually laughed when I chanced upon the Beautification Committee in my research: Yukimura Seichii says, "Dust is the source of all kinds of diseases. That's why this is an important job." Check out the rest in the tenipuri wikia page under "Committees". It's hilarious.  
(3) Disclaimer: This beautiful poem is written by Brian Wisecarver from poetrysoup.  
(4) A lock of hair has carried symbolic value all through-out history. According to the Encyclopedia of Comparative Iconography, "Hair has often been seen as a symbol of life, strength, and even a surrogate of the self. The significance of hair-cutting has a range of meanings, from a decrease of strength and power to the cherished bestowal of a lock of hair to a lover... the custom of giving of a lock of hair as a love token implied a giving of one's self, the part substituting for the whole."

And there you have it, folks! As usual, reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated. :)


	3. Swinging through the Grapevine

**Author's Note:** Although there will be appearances and frequent mentions of other OCs as we go along, rest assured that the spotlight will not be on them. More plot in this chapter! Oh, and a special shout-out to iris and Rejar who have been consistent reviewers! And to HEHE, who has also been very kind to leave a review. You are made of pure awesome, guys.

If you haven't already noticed, I have completely disregarded the U-17 Camp. Cheers.

* * *

 **Trap 3  
** Swinging through the Grapevine

The Tennis Club looked like denizens of the underworld as they lumbered out of the tennis courts after morning practice. Yagyuu, who was usually the paragon of calm, could not deny himself the pleasure of venting out a bit of his frustration when he opened his locker, only to find that something was missing.

"I would have let yesterday's incident slide, but I still don't see my poetry book in here."

"Now, now, no need to get your panties jumbled over some haiku," Niou deadpanned as he rummaged for the book in his bag and handed it over to his doubles partner. "It's still in one piece, see?"

Yagyuu chucked the small leather book in its niche, between their Calculus and World History textbook. He tinkered with his lock for a moment, but then decided against changing his locker code since that never kept Niou from stealing his belongings, anyway. It dawned on him that he had completely let his guard down when it came to Niou, but it didn't really bug him as much as it should.

"You do know this is a case of plagiarism."

"I think the real concern is that you write really cheesy poems, Yagyuu."

The Gentleman wasn't usually one to poke his nose into other people's business, but Niou's unexpected interest on the Student Council Vice President was bugging him for some reason. The hallway was buzzing with excited freshmen when they stepped out of the locker rooms

"…heard they did it in her house after the confession…"

Yagyuu slanted a glance towards Niou whose expression was as implacable as ever. But he's known the guy for so long that even without meaning to, he becomes receptive to the smallest changes in his expression. At that moment, what must have been invisible to others, he was able to see: the nuances of joy and triumph.

"…but he looks so rough! I didn't think she would go after someone like him!"

They were nearing their corridor, the junction where they were to part ways for first period.

"I guess she's not as innocent as we thought."

Yagyuu first noticed Ono during the Opening Ceremony.

Beside the ostentatious Student Council President who was mobbed by a group of senior girls, she was a regal presence amid her peers, with her back straight, chin tucked up, and a luminescent smile as she extended her warm greetings. He was not foreign to the experience of aisatsu (1), but that fleeting moment when he stood in her line of sight and silver met hazel (2), he was struck with an intensity that left him reeling. She held his gaze for a moment or two, her smile pleasant, before the Student Council President called for her attention and whispered something in her ear.

He reeled not because he was not used to meeting someone's gaze during morning greetings—although it was a bit unusual since people would often have their eyes glued to the floor as the students walked by. He reeled not because her eyes were the brightest brown he has ever seen. He reeled because in that transient exchange, he was able to see a reflection of himself.

He distinctly remembered how his partner's smile was a notch higher than usual, how there was a dangerous glint in his eye as they sauntered past the Vice President and headed for the gymnasium that particular morning. For someone who took pride in his astuteness, he was vaguely disappointed that he overlooked something in that infinitesimal exchange.

What did he miss?

He was not as sharp as their Strategist in stringing seemingly unimportant details to form a coherent picture, probably even a far third after Yanagi and Niou, but he did notice little things, and was more receptive than the general public, especially when it came to the Trickster.

The funny thing was, over the years Yagyuu has known Niou, not much effort was exerted when it came to decoding the puzzle that was his partner. Honest to god, he did try in the beginning, but he quickly realized the futility of the task, and it later dawned on him that any grain of knowledge about his partner's line of thinking was made possible because Niou allowed it to happen. That without his consent, there would always be that impenetrable wall to jump over in order for one to truly understand Niou Masaharu.

But this did not stop Yagyuu from wondering and formulating his own conclusions. Perhaps because it was human nature to be curious and ponder, or that the concern his doubles partner warranted was by plain virtue of their friendship. In any case, he had come to accept that Niou would always be a welcome enigma ever since his partner had successfully created a dent in his routine.

And he had to admit, life had become more exciting with Niou around.

The night before school started, it was ten past twelve when he found Niou throwing pebbles outside his window, where the canopy of trees in his backyard was his friend's current shelter from the downpour. Dripping wet and looking incredibly pissed, Niou had climbed over the ledge and landed softly in his room. His partner slipped past his questions with practiced evasiveness, but one has to give Yagyuu credit that although he could not pinpoint what exactly went wrong that night—that the usually careful Trickster was sporting a huge wound on his left hand—something was definitely amiss.

Then he bore witness to the senior's confession to the Vice President. In spite of herself, Ono-senpai looked positively mortified. At first, Yagyuu wasn't sure whether it was because she was not used to grandiose declarations of love, but after hearing Kiriyama's poetry, he was able to connect the dots.

Not all of them, anyway, but enough to let him know that someone was pulling the strings.

"Niou-kun."

"What?" he said without turning to him, and instead had his gaze fixed towards the opposite end of the hallway where a familiar group of upperclassmen huddled together for their daily morning greetings.

The normal crowd of four that was stationed by the entrance was down to three that Yagyuu had to wonder whether the nasty rumors had gotten to the Vice President. He felt a wave of pity for her.

"Did anything happen with Ono-senpai?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Niou's wolfish grin confirmed his suspicions.

Yagyuu kept silent, unsure of what to make out of his partner's reply. "Apart from you stealing my poetry to get her and Kiriyama-senpai together, you seem hell-bent on making her life miserable, to put it bluntly."

He was talking to a wall, he figured, as his doubles partner simply shrugged his questions off, which irked him.

"May I remind you that the captain will not hesitate to kick you out of the team if you get into big trouble right before the tournaments."

"You have so little faith that it makes me a little disappointed," Niou cast him a curious glance.

Then,

"She's interesting," he said finally.

That seemed to be the only answer Yagyuu will get for now.

* * *

Ono was feeling mutinous as she washed off the white powder on her face, that even the sound of the sink's running water was grating on her nerves.

She didn't think there was ever a moment in her life where her temper had flared to such dangerous levels. More than the actual surprise and embarrassment she felt as everyone within a five kilometer radius suddenly fussed over her when a bag of flour exploded into her face upon opening her locker that morning, was the reality that someone had broken her code, and could possibly do it again.

She looked at her face in the mirror, her skin deathly pale now that it was free of make-up.

"…think Kiriyama-senpai performed voodoo? I heard he had Ono-senpai's hair—"

When the group of freshmen noticed her by the sink, they were quick to clamp their mouth shut and give their greetings, and at this she plastered on a smile and acknowledged them with a nod. They disappeared soon after, her smile following suit.

She was not deaf to their scandalous whispers, and was not blind to the way they regarded her as she stood by the gates and performed her duties. As for the Council, apart from Kobayashi who had badgered her all night about the truth and was, in turn, greatly disappointed by her lack of response, both Sonoda and Furuki had refrained from asking her about yesterday's incident, which spoke volumes of their respect for her privacy. She knew better than to expect the same from the rest of the student body—that was one of the pitfalls of popularity, after all—so it was not at all difficult for her to shrug everything off.

Although she has always been a stickler for routine, the tried and tested way to gain control of herself, she knew that in order to survive the dog-eat-dog world that is High School, adaptation is key.

After the shock of Kiriyama's affirmation of her so-called confession, she had quickly gone over all the possible outcomes and ways she can get herself out of the situation. (Asao was completely pushed out of the picture). But what easily stood out among all of them was the enemy she would make out of the senior if she rejected him right there and then, more so, in the presence of his biker gang.

She could only imagine the havoc that would ensue. Murphy's Law did say that, "If anything can go wrong, it will."

She then opted that playing along would be the lesser evil. After asking Kiriyama if he would be so kind to walk her home alone that day—resulting in a wave of disbelief and confusion among those who were present—she was then presented with the opportunity to get herself out of the mess once and for all.

She only had to wait for Kiriyama's answer now.

The sound of the homeroom bell reverberated throughout the corridors. She had P.E. for first period, which did nothing to improve her mood. She could feel the stares on her back, the tension in the locker room so palpable as they all seemed to weigh the options of how they were going to address her. In the most dramatic sense, it was as if yesterday's events tipped the scales out of her favor. As if being associated with Kiriyama was a disease they did not wish to catch from her.

God, people can be so stupid sometimes.

"Good morning, Ako-chan."

Kobayashi regarded her coolly, her smile a bit strained. Before she could reply, her friend had slipped past her and headed straight for her locker on the other end of the room. Ono was trying her hardest to keep the irritation from reflecting on her face, as it hit her that she would have to deal with this kind of shit for the rest of the day.

An enormous net hung over the gymnasium like a tapestry, dividing the place into eastern and western hemispheres. Freshmen boys occupied the eastern block—they were a rowdy bunch, boisterous laughter echoing off the walls of the gymnasium as they divided themselves into teams for a game of volleyball. The silver-haired bastard was not among them, but the red-head who usually tagged along Yukimura was busy chewing gum in the sidelines as his classmates fought over him. They tossed a coin and soon enough settled the matter.

"Over here!" One of her classmates called out to her.

Ono had only realized there was something iffy about her white sneakers as they ran laps around the gymnasium. When the whistle was blown, she levered her body forward for that final ten-second sprint.

And run, she did.

Her body was light, but her right foot felt heavy. One moment, she was keeping up with her peers. In the next, her body had lurched forward, uninhibited and completely helpless against the force of gravity, and fell face flat on the floor.

"Oh my god, Ono-san! Are you alright?"

All of a sudden, her classmates had sidled up beside her fallen, defeated form. They pointed out the gash on her knee and that the heel of her sneakers had come off, and it was only a matter of willpower that she was able to keep herself from punching someone on the face. It was not difficult to get herself excused from class for another excursion to the locker rooms, where after making sure she was alone, she had finally exploded in a fit of rage and thrown her tarnished pair of shoes against the wall.

Graaaaaaaaaaaargh!

She was supposed to be beyond the reach of bullying at this point! But apparently, she was not as impervious to such episodes of childishness as she thought. Although she was lacking in evidence, Ono had a very distinct feeling that the perpetrator behind yesterday's hoax was responsible for that morning's series of unfortunate events as well.

And for someone who liked to keep track of things, she had lost count of how many times she had butchered the freshman bastard in her head.

After counting to ten, she picked up the traitorous sneakers and replaced them with her more tattered pair. She was steadfast as she cleaned her wound. Then she smoothed out the strands of hair that stuck out from her previously immaculate ponytail, lest someone walked in on her and wondered whether the rumored poltergeist lurking in the faculty rooms had finally possessed her.

"Let's pair up," Kobayashi told her when she returned to the gym, in what seemed like a peace offering and perhaps a patronizing gesture after her accident.

"Okay," Ono agreed readily, making sure to smile softly and dismiss her irritation.

They were going to do basketball drills now, which made Ono wish she had not returned to class so soon.

"Hey!" Kobayashi passed her the ball, which almost slipped out of her hands.

"Hey!" she cried right back as she returned the ball and hobbled sideways, following the white line painted from one end of the court to the other. Meanwhile, she made sure to keep her limbs from interlocking as she resolved to complete the drills without breaking any bones.

"Just relax, and don't look at your feet! It's more troublesome that way," Kobayashi instructed, sounding a little friendlier than she did earlier. There was a hint of pity in her tone, which did not sit well with Ono.

"Yeah," she muttered, averting her gaze past her partner's shoulders, as if embarrassed for having been caught, but making sure to put more force in her next pass.

Kobayashi didn't seem to notice though.

Diverting her attention from her partner, she noticed that the freshmen were now in the middle of a match, and it was the red-head's service game. He spiked the ball with pinpoint precision that it landed exactly in the corner of the court. Whatever resentment she felt for the people around her was magnified as she bore witness to the reality that not only were the tennis members gods at their own game, they were also forces to be reckoned with in other sports.

Meanwhile, her biggest achievement in the field of sports was keeping herself from falling face flat on the ground as they ran laps.

"Hey!" Kobayashi huffed. They were on their third lap across the court now. "You do know I'm mad at you, right?"

A snort which vaguely passed as a whimper. "Do you believe them?" Chest pass.

"For the record, you never gave me a straight answer." Overhead pass.

A pause, as if she was mulling over telling her, then finally whispered, "Well, I'm really sorry for not telling you."

"S-so it's true!" Kobayashi gasped. "Kiriyama-senpai and you?"

Her partner had thrown the ball with more power that Ono had to scramble on her feet to catch it as she made the turn around one of the orange cones. It was a disgraceful display, she had to admit, but she could not help but feel triumphant when she managed to secure the ball in her grasp. She was burning with desire to prove herself this time, and just when she was about to throw the ball back to Kobayashi, she became blind to the other ball that hurtled past the draping net and straight towards the back of her head.

In the next moment, Ono lay in an unceremonious heap on the floor.

"Ako-chan!"

"Holy shit, Ono-senpai!"

* * *

Ono counted three small cracks on the ceiling when she opened her eyes.

"You're awake."

Seated by her bedside was Kiriyama Madoka, who despite his attempts to look intimidating, could not hide the visible flush on his cheeks. She carefully sat up from the bed, and Kiriyama was quick to support her when she faked the struggle of sitting up.

She had even faked losing consciousness when the volleyball culprit had rushed to her side and profusely apologized. But by the time Marui, whose name she just recently learned, had appeared in the junior courts, with eyes firmly shut close and her body completely unmoving, Ono had already convinced her entire class that she had fainted and would have to miss the rest of first period.

A person could only bear so much humiliation, after all.

It was a challenge to keep herself still when the freshman had volunteered to bring her to the nurse to make up for what he did. To his credit, he was very gentle when he scooped her up from the floor and carried her all the way to the infirmary, with Kobayashi in tow, who had yapped at Marui non-stop for his utter carelessness and didn't he know his senpai was already having such a shitty day?!

Props to Kobayashi for that one. Ono made a mental note to treat her to that new cake shop downtown after all the hullabaloo.

"How are you feeling?" Kiriyama asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

"I'm feeling much better. Thank you," she replied, and without wasting another moment, asked, "Have you seen the email?"

"Yeah, I saw the pictures of your notes," Kiriyama's expression soured, and added, albeit grudgingly. "Your handwriting is very pretty."

Ono has prepared for this moment, wisely ignoring the senior's mixed melancholy and anger, and plowed through.

"I'm upset that we were used as pawns, senpai, but this is the truth—"

"I'd lose face, Sakurako-san. You know that," he persisted. A moment's hesitation before he continued, "I don't understand why we can't just go out for real?"

She can list down a thousand reasons why they couldn't, beginning with she would lose face, but of course she couldn't just crush him to a pulp when she wanted to make amends. She has long mastered the art of contorting her expression however she wanted it, so at least she had that to back her up. At the moment, she was donning her most regretful and apologetic look, then whispered, hitting the final blow,

"Because I'm in love with someone else."

Kiriyama looked crushed, nonetheless.

"I'm so sorry that it has come down to this," she started, breaking the awkward silence. "But the repercussions can be minimized as long as we stick to the plan." Her voice was steady but gentle all throughout. "You have read the proposal I've sent, haven't you?"

He could only nod dumbly, and then muttered, "When I find the asshole who did all this, I'll kill him."

"Senpai!"

Ono made sure to look horrified when he said those words, in which Kiriyama was quick to retract them and assure her that no violence will take place in school grounds as long as he was in command. She thanked him heartily, which earned her a smile. She gave herself a mental pat on the back.

She would never yield the pleasure of murdering the freshman. Not to anyone, no.

"I can assume you are amenable to the terms?"

There was a long pause, as Kiriyama merely stared at her. She averted her gaze and looked at her hands, just to impress on the farce that she was keeping the awkwardness of the moment to a bare minimum. If Kiriyama was not going to concede after she counted to ten—

"Who's the guy, Sakurako-san?" When she looked at him, genuinely perplexed, he said, "The guy you're in love with."

Ono was so close to gouging her senpai's eyes out as he continued to stare at her like a kicked puppy. For someone who was dubbed The King of Shibuya, she never expected that Kiriyama would be such a pansy. Her patience was wearing thin. Instead of answering him, she reached for the phone in her pocket, punched a few buttons, and then flipped the screen towards him.

Kiriyama blanched at what he saw: it was a picture of himself playing with the puppies in the nearby animal shelter. The pups were all clamoring to him as he reached for them with a love-sick expression that would have Romeo and Juliet make a run for their money.

He finally got the hint.

"I'll leave you to rest then."

Ono's smile did not falter until the infirmary door was shut close and she was once again left to her thoughts.

* * *

The rooftop was locked during first period.

It was Music class, and there was nothing more arduous to Niou than trying to withstand an hour and a half of his classmate's obnoxious fiddling with the instruments. He did not necessarily dislike music, but he found it difficult to let the melody sift through his head when all he could hear were wails and screeches. Although it was not a general description, considering the few who played tolerably, he still would not stick around for those with abysmal playing. It was a mass murder of notes and his brain cells—it was very difficult to hear his thoughts in such an environment.

With a pin ready, he tinkered with the keyhole, and it was not long before he heard the soft click. He pushed the doors. It still would not budge. He supposed it was barred from outside.

Damn it.

Which ultimately led him to faking an upset stomach to convince the school nurse that he needed to stay in bed until the pain went away (or until Music class ended). It must have been half an hour later when he heard the scuffle outside the confines of his curtains.

"Listen, if senpai asks who's responsible, tell her it was Yagyuu, okay? If it wasn't for that god awful spike I wouldn't have—"

"Oh, for christ's sake! Just put her in bed and I'll get the ice—o-oi, be careful!"

He could tell it was Marui, and his teammate sounded vaguely distressed as he conversed with a girl whose voice he did not recognize.

Niou moved carefully and drew the curtains a little. Indeed, it was their Volley Specialist, who was currently pleading innocence to the petite junior girl he recognized as the Student Council Secretary, both too busy squabbling to notice him, then there was—

Ono.

Who lay unconscious in bed next to his.

For a girl who showed a lot of bravado, it was disconcerting to see her so lifeless.

"Shit, what if that gang leader finds out? I'm so screwed!"

He drew back the curtains and waited. After a minute or so, he heard the door shut close, and there was silence.

A sigh from the other side of the curtains.

He grinned.

So, she was awake.

He quietly lay back down in bed and stared at the clock on the wall, just letting the silence encompass them. It was fifteen minutes later when the hinges of the door creaked. A quick peek: it was Kiriyama.

His smile was even more feral as he listened quietly.

"Because I'm in love with someone else."

He has always had a knack for smelling bullshit, even if it was a mile away.

When the second silence reigned, he finally drew the curtains.

Niou had to stifle his laughter when he saw Ono's expression—she looked like she had just swallowed an entire lemon when she realized he must have heard everything, and her expression morphed into something more angry when she realized who he was. For a moment, it seemed like she was on the brink of hurling her pillow at him.

"Niou-kun." Her voice was level. Plus points to her.

"I'm flattered you know my name," he drawled, sitting up from the adjacent bed, then added just to spite her, "You seem a little under the weather, Oni-senpai."

He noticed the imperceptible downward twitch of her smile. "I was hit by a volleyball in P.E. class," she answered succinctly, ignoring the pseudo-patronizing look she was getting from him.

There was a pause. He scrutinized her, her previously long, cinnamon-colored hair now chopped short and framing her heart-shaped face. She looked a little pale, looked less chipper. But as he stared long and hard, with hopes of unnerving her, she kept the smile pleasant and positively endearing on her face.

Oho, she was insistent on keeping the charade, wasn't she?

"So, you and the gang leader, huh?"

She didn't budge. In response to Niou's taunting grin, she looked at his hand free of bandages and said, "Oh, is your hand all better now? I remember you had it all bandaged up yesterday, and I couldn't help but worry a little that you weren't able to participate in your selection matches."

Despite himself, Niou laughed softly. "You're really good at this!"

Ono had no reservations of frowning now. She leaned forward, closing the gap between them until her face was only a hair's breadth away from his, and whispered, "I will eat you alive, you little piece of shit."

As if on cue, the door slid open.

Ono was back on her side of the bed, and regarded the school nurse with a polite bow and a smile. Meanwhile, Niou looked like he had just won the lottery.

The school nurse could only wonder what they were up to as she dismissed them both for second period now that they looked like they could take on the world or something like that.

* * *

A week later, news that Kiriyama Madoka and Ono Sakurako have broken up spread like wildfire around campus. There were long-table discussions held during lunch in the cafeteria and the rooftop, and hasty conclusions why it was such a short-lived relationship whispered in passing in the hallways. It was still a topic of hot debate how they got together in the first place and what dynamics of their relationship ultimately led to its downfall.

But there was one thing consistent in the grapevine: It was Kiriyama who broke up with Ono.

Kiriyama was still as elusive as ever in public. But a couple of freshmen who had cleaning duties in the old gym every Friday afternoon recounted an experience that involved their resident gang leader; they heard peals of loud cackles and excited chatter in the deserted, and supposedly haunted, administration building behind the old gym. Instead of diving headfirst into whatever awaited them in the dark corridors of the said building, however, they waited for the usual pair of Disciplinary Committee members who made rounds in the area.

Alas, they never came.

When they were about to make a run for it, Kiriyama himself had stepped out of the building and saw them emerge from the bushes. Time seemed to stop as the King of Shibuya merely pressed his pointer finger against his lips and smiled. The freshmen quickly made gestures that they understood. Once his scowl was back on, they finally ran as if their life depended on it.

Meanwhile, Ono, who was usually a ray of sunshine, blended well with the greying paint of the walls that week. What usually was a smiling face that greeted the students in the mornings looked dismal and so unlike her that people wondered whether it was guilt overridden reflecting on her face, which would imply that their doomed relationship was her doing, or it was the great and mighty Kiriyama who played her.

Given their stark differences in disposition, the population was more inclined to lean towards the latter.

Moreover, to add insult to injury, it would appear that Ono was still the victim of bullying. She would be subject to a dose of daily horror whenever she would open her locker—the code of which she had changed twice that week. She'd also find her desk missing every morning before homeroom. Dodging whatever popped out of her locker and taking a trip down the janitor's lounge to request assistance regarding a new desk have become part of her routine, her movements already bordering on mechanical.

She was like a bamboo. Sturdy and resilient, begetting both pity and admiration.

Which was why her peers would make it a point to always invite her out for shopping or karaoke, or include her in their discussions, just to make her feel more involved and less left out. In a way, it was also to keep her from wallowing. After all, that was two failed relationships in a row, and the poor girl's heart could only take so much sadness.

The freshmen representatives, also well aware of the rumors circulating the junior and senior floors, were more eager to do their Ono-senpai's bidding during council meetings. They would volunteer and participate heartily, thinking that by doing so would lift a bit of burden off the Vice President's shoulders. The general sympathy was not limited to the students; even the teachers had consoling words to share whenever they would pass by her in the hallways.

Ono Sakurako was the center of Rikkai Dai's pity party.

But what was most noteworthy post-breakup was the sheer number of confessions she received for the past week. Initially, the male population would have reservations of asking Ono out because they were led to believe that she would not have the time of day for the likes of them. But after word had gotten out that Kiriyama had mercilessly broken her heart, they were able to gather what little courage they had and approach her.

So it was no strange sight when the sports clubs would encounter Ono with a boy under the enormous poplar tree located in the heart of Rikkai grounds, which was said to be the most ideal spot for confessions. The same thing happened over and over though: the boy would break out into a smile in front of Ono and then walk away looking downcast.

It was a daily picture painted in Rikkai.

* * *

It was a strange sight when Ono appeared on the bleachers overlooking the tennis courts one afternoon.

Niou was running laps when he first noticed her.

A couple of junior players had already flocked to her side to say their hellos. She looked up from the book she was reading, and brightened when she saw them. A friendly banter seemed to have ensued, their faces vibrant with laughter. Then it wasn't long before all three players were shooed back to practice by the captain. Ono waved at them before returning to her book.

Niou stared a few moments longer, and was finally rewarded a glance. He held her gaze, his lips twitching upward as she regarded him with a burning intensity he could imprint in his head even with his eyes closed. But it was she who yielded first, dropping his gaze as she made her way to their captain who was overseeing the practice matches in the other courts.

The corner of his mouth dropped.

Ono seemed to be explaining something to their captain, who was nodding vigorously, as if in agreement to what she was saying. He could tell she was in the middle of negotiations, with the determined set of her eyes and the beatific smile pinned on her face. A moment later, Yukimura was called in, and the three of them formed a formidable party within the tennis courts.

"Niou-kun," Yagyuu's hand lightly gripped his shoulder. "We're having practice matches with Court B now."

It did not end there, however.

Marui sauntered to where she was sitting during water break. The Volley Specialist, with hands clasped together, said something while looking apologetic. Ono was all smiles, indulgent even, as she dealt with her junior, and to Marui's extreme delight, brought out a small, elegantly-styled gold box from her backpack and offered it to him. Niou could tell that it was taking every ounce of Marui's willpower not to hug her. It must have been cake.

"I wonder if she's going to be here all afternoon," Yagyuu remarked as he pushed his glasses against the bridge of his nose. Niou was quiet as he took a swig from his water bottle. "You think she's waiting for someone?"

At this, Niou scoffed.

Yagyuu quirked an eyebrow at his friend, who simply resumed his drinking. "You beg to differ?"

"I think," Niou started, his eyes blazing as he looked at her laughing at something Marui said. "…something weird is going to happen soon."

.

.

.

* * *

.

.

.

Night had fallen upon the school grounds, but training was still in full-swing. The Kanto Prefectural was fast-approaching, and an unspoken certainty exists that training would be more rigorous than usual. It was a given, an accepted truth, just like how the sun rises from the east and sets in the west. There was no whining or complaints. Just maximum effort and dedication poured into every swing of their racket, into every ball they smashed into the ground. If it meant they would have to run five hundred laps around the court to outlast all their opponents, they'd do it to ascertain their victory.

Always win, Rikkai.

That was the rule of the Kings.

However, just as practice matches commenced in all courts of the stadium, the lights flickered, dimmed, and suddenly the tennis courts were bathed in darkness.

"The power's out!"

Their captain's subsequent roar echoed throughout the area, and amidst the wave of anxious chatter, there was light laughter that bubbled from one corner of the courts.

It didn't take a genius to know who would find this development amusing.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Contrary to countless fics' portrayal of Niou, I'm convinced he's more introverted than he lets on. Which is true of the manga!Niou, anyway. I believe there's a stark difference between anime!Niou and manga!Niou, you see, and I choose to stick with the latter, mainly because his introversion seems to fit his ruthless, calculating personality better. And let's admit it: most of the time, nobody knows where the guy's off to or what goes on in his head. He likes doing things at his own pace. He comes off as somewhat of a slacker, but the guy's pretty serious when it comes to his studies and tennis, both of which, he excels in. If I were to type Niou using the Myers-Briggs' 16 personalities, I believe our resident Trickster's an INTJ.

Agree or disagree?

On another note, it took me quite a while to make the outline for this story, and I'm just so happy I was finally able to map everything out. OS will most likely be 20-22 chapters long, and considering we're only on the third chapter, expect many more things to happen. I'm pretty excited to write the rest of the chapters, actually. I only hope I can deliver and update as often as I can. ;w;

Anyway, I'll be adding a new section to my A/Ns just to pick at your brains and keep the discussion going:

 **Points To-Ponder:**

(1) Why do you think Yagyuu saw a reflection of himself in Ono?  
(2) What do you think were the pertinent points of Kiriyama and Ono's deal?  
(3) Do you think Ono managed to turn the tables in this chapter?

 **Extras:**

(1) There's this japantoday article on the "Importance of aisatsu" (or greetings), and it kind of sheds light on the whole routine we get a glimpse of in anime/manga. Based on what I've read, they do it to keep things less awkward in the work place, given that people will feel less inclined to ignore someone if that person greeted you in the hallways or something (or so they say). I guess this also coincides with the kouhai-senpai culture fostered in school and society's rabid respect for the elderly. I'm not entirely sure if aisatsu is still strictly followed these days though.  
(2) Yagyuu is said to have silver eyes. Ono has hazel.

 **Up Next:** After a series of cancelled "dates", Ono finally meets the Traitor! But what does Niou have to do with this?


	4. Eyes Eyes Baby

**Author's Note:** As always, hugs and kisses to the awesome reviewers: SilverSapphire34532, Trixter, BloodyRites, hehe, Fierce Naga, Guest, and Arfold! Separate replies for you lot at the end of this chapter. And, of course, much love to those who have favorited and alerted this humble fic of mine.

So I lied about the Traitor appearing. Rated T for mild language.

 **Recap:**

Niou and co. – freshmen  
Ono, Kobayashi – juniors  
Sonoda, Furuki, Kiriyama, Asao, unnamed captain and vice-captain of the tennis team – seniors

* * *

 **Trap 4  
** Eyes Eyes Baby

『 5:00 A.M. 』

When the LED screen flashed five, a series of high-pitched beeps echoed in the darkness.

An arm popped up from under a mountain of pillows and jabbed at the alarm in hysterics. After a whirlwind of movements and yawns, Ono had her bed properly made and was headed straight for the bathroom. She was on autopilot. The lukewarm shower was a slice of heaven, and a critical portion of her daybreak as she gradually regained awareness with the continuous surge of water splattering on her head.

She poured copious amounts of the bath liquid in her hands and lathered it on her body, the scent of chamomile overwhelming her senses, making her even more hyperaware, and her thoughts taking on its usual route of recounting all that she has accomplished the previous day. Then the gears in her mind shifted, whirred at full speed as she went over her mental to-do lists and reassessed her daily priorities.

Ono Sakurako was good at a lot of things, but if there was anything she was most noteworthy of, it was her mindfulness of her every action, her every step. This, of course, initially required a great amount of fortitude on her part, but time had tempered this habit into her system. It was clockwork now. It was as natural as breathing.

She was in full control.

『 5:20 A.M. 』

She allotted approximately twenty-five minutes to get herself to look immaculate in her Rikkai uniform. It took her ten minutes to blow-dry and fluff her bob. Five to don her blue ensemble and smooth out unwanted wrinkles on the pleats of her skirt. Another five to apply her light make-up and make sure it's just the right amount of nude to keep the faculty off of her back. The remaining time she used to check herself out in her full-length mirror.

A serene smile. A smoldering gaze. A flirtatious wink.

She looked good. She felt good. Now it was time to do good.

『 5:45 A.M. 』

The rich, dark sound of John Coltrane's saxophone bounced off the cream-colored walls of her room. She was seated by her desk, poring over her neatly-scribbled notes in preparation for her morning subjects—English, Japanese Literature, and her third language of choice, French. She was resolute and prolific in her task, and once finished, proceeded with perusing through sheaves of budget proposals over a steaming hot cup of black coffee. One, two, three boxes ticked off of her to-do list, and she felt like she was Queen of the world.

The playlist on her iPod was back to Track 1.

A quick glance at her digital told her she had to get going.

『 6:45 A.M. 』

She pushed the metal shutters upward. Dark shadows slithered past the racks and the upright by the corner as the morning sunlight flooded through the glass panes of the music store. The new boy was busy prepping the counter for his morning shift, stacking the massive amount of reserved CDs on the shelves behind him. She laid out the ground rules to him in her no-nonsense tone, and explicitly told him to tell her aunt not to wait for her in the evening.

Now that she conquered her morning routine, she stepped out into the morning, ready to take on the world.

* * *

『 7:30 A.M. 』

The train was halfway to the Nishishinjuku station (1), and she was browsing an article about the Greek economic crisis on her phone when the little message box popped up in her screen.

From: Mom  
Subject: How are you

Will you be coming home for the weekend? Your dad's planning a little something for you.

What took about two hours and a half to build and cement was instantly flushed down the drain—her good mood displaced, she had no hesitations of letting the little bubble of anger erupt in her chest as she typed her reply.

To: Mom  
Subject: Hi mom

Mid-terms are coming up. Plan to study during Golden Week as well. Stop referring to him as my da—

She quickly erased the last bit and pressed 'sent', her grip on her phone not easing, as she attempted to regain some semblance of self-possession. There was an effort to read the article again, but the tiny claw of guilt gnawed at her insides, and eventually she typed,

To: Mom  
Subject: I'm fine by the way

I love you

The train slowed to a stop. Someone spoke in the intercom, the doors slid open, and more people rushed in. Students in different uniforms crowded in the aisle, and clutched the circular handles dangling from the ceiling. Ono offered her seat to one of the older ladies and made herself comfortable against a metal pole. Now that she was only a few stations away from Kanagawa she identified several of her schoolmates in the line, mostly members of the sports teams. A few curious glances were flung her way. She paid no heed to them, but her eyes were quick to scan the scene for any sign of silver.

There was none.

Ono felt a wave of relief wash over her. Then she mentally berated herself for feeling so threatened over a freshman.

"Good morning."

She jumped when she found Yukimura standing beside her. He was not in his Rikkai uniform and was instead donning his tennis jersey and a white cap. Amusement danced in his eyes when she tried to compose herself, his smile widening pleasantly when she began to laugh at her silliness for having been so surprised.

"Good morning. On the way to practice?"

He smiled in confirmation. "The District Preliminaries are in two weeks." His eyes darted to her face. "Do you play tennis, senpai?"

Her face scrunched up like she had smelled something repulsive, which Yukimura found rather comical. "I fail at anything that requires me running around. I was born with two left feet, I think. You should see me in P.E. class."

Yukimura's smile was surreptitious. "I did hear interesting stories from Marui."

"Oh, no." She shyly buried her face against her arm.

He laughed, but in no way mocking. "I'm sure it wasn't as bad as he said it was."

Ono lightheartedly waved off his weak attempt to make her feel better. "It's fascinating to watch you play though. You all are very good." A calculated pause as she caught his gaze and held it firmly to prove her sincerity. "You most of all. I now understand why they refer to you as the Child of God. The way I see it, you'll have no problems usurping senpai from his captaincy."

His expression bordered between pleased and unassuming. "I won't go that far."

"Ah, but unless you've played your captain, you really have nothing to discredit my theory," she smartly replied, which earned her another bout of amused chuckles. "I've always wondered why those gaggle of girls would religiously flock towards the tennis courts after school. It was hilarious to me at first, but I definitely see the appeal in it now," she admitted, returning her gaze towards the scenery, where the panoramic view of Tokyo Bay sped past them.

"As long as they don't disturb practice. The cheering boosts the team's morale." Yukimura turned to look at her again. "I'm sure senpai's presence in our games would increase it even more."

She tilted her head downwards, as if embarrassed. It did not escape her attention that the warmth in the pit of her stomach was back, if that was any indication of a genuine flustered reaction. Damn Yukimura.

"I'll be there to see you win, then."

"Excellent," His smile was a notch higher.

They reached the next station. Ono was pushed helpless against one of the walls as more people trickled in, and Yukimura was gracious enough to shield her from the sudden onslaught of bodies. Her face was delicately pressed against his shoulder, as it would have been much too uncomfortable to have him completely face her that she would have had buried her face on his chest.

She was content with the arrangement.

The rest of the transit passed in comfortable silence, her eyes fully trained on her junior's side profile. Ono had always thought he was incredibly good-looking, and now confirmed he was more so up-close. As lascivious as it may sound, she was no stranger to close proximities with the opposite sex, but she couldn't help but notice that there was something subtly feral about Yukimura that made his presence even more intriguing. When he flicked his eyes towards her, she merely smiled at him, and was slightly thankful for the distraction when she felt the vibration in her pocket.

From: Mom  
Subject: That's good

I love you, too, sweetie. Come home soon.

Then right below her message was an attached picture of an elaborately-decorated chocolate cake, with real strawberry toppings forming a heart on the surface. In the middle of the shape, a wispy Happy Birthday, Ako! was written in white icing. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and this time, she did not nothing to suppress the warmth that ballooned at the pits of her stomach.

Yukimura watched her quietly, taking note of the change in her demeanor. Her shoulders were more relaxed, her expression less guarded as she continued to stare at the screen of her phone. He flicked his eyes towards the window, and saw the reflection of the message.

When she looked up and caught him looking at her, she gave him a blinding smile, and it was a lot different from what he was used to—it was softer, more blithe, more real.

They finally arrived at their station. It was easy for them to alight the cart since they were near the doors, and together, they walked to Rikkai in companionable silence, with Ono managing to keep up with his strides. When they neared the gates, a group of juniors spotted Ono and had cajoled her into walking to school with them, but not before not-so-discretely ogling Yukimura who had silently stood by her side all this time. She politely excused herself. The last thing she saw was the oddity that were his eyes before she disappeared into the crowd.

His irises were so blue, so unfathomable she felt like she could drown in them.

* * *

 **ENERGY-SAVING RULE**

As a result of the 25% increase in energy costs all over the metro due to the repercussions of the Fukushima Power Plant Disaster (2), there will be a strict implementation of a curfew for after-school activities every MONDAY, WEDNESDAY and FRIDAY in the next few months. All lights in the gymnasium, the swimming pool, soccer field, and the indoor and outdoor tennis courts will automatically be shut off by 5 PM. Any club member found loitering around the campus without a permit from their respective advisers will be apprehended accordingly.

Rest assured that the administration and the Student Council are currently working hand-in-hand in finding an alternative to the current situation.

Hoping for your kind understanding,

Sonoda Akihiro  
Student Council President

Noted by:

Masafumi Wakaba  
Principal

"What are you doing?"

Niou ignored Yagyuu and continued to crumple the paper in his hands, before aiming the paper ball at one of the unknowing freshmen walking past the tennis courts. It him squarely on the head. When the victim looked up at the bleachers, Niou had swiftly turned on his heel, as if the sky was the most fascinating thing that begets attention, making Yagyuu seem like the culprit. The Gentleman could only sigh as their schoolmate regarded him in confusion, who eventually decided against pinning the blame on him because this was Model Student-slash-Class Representative-slash-Gentleman Yagyuu. The unlucky victim of Niou's boredom simply turned away as if nothing happened.

"Such a formidable reputation you have," Niou said eventually, which only caused Yagyuu to regard him in silent admonishment.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you slipping in late during morning practice," Yagyuu declared as they left the bleachers and made their way past the growing crowd in front of the bulletin boards.

The Trickster was silent and appeared to be completely unfazed by being called out. Yagyuu's lips thinned when Niou looked intent to refuse to let his guard down, and in a way, it was disheartening how adamant his partner was to keep whatever it was that was distracting him a secret. Yagyuu was not oblivious to the way Niou's gaze possessed an uncharacteristic intensity which he only usually saw within the tennis courts or whenever he was faced with a challenging math problem. Niou has been more withdrawn, his presence more fleeting as of late that Yagyuu was more than willing to drop the Gentleman pretense to pry further.

"Hey, freshman!" It was one of their seniors in the club. Yagyuu halted in his steps to acknowledge the call, but Niou kept walking, expectedly incensing the upperclassman. "Hey, rat-tail! Hold up!"

Niou was undeterred, and only when Yagyuu calmly gripped his shoulder did he pause. "It wouldn't be wise to get on his bad side. Not this time, Niou-kun."

The senior caught up with them eventually. "You respond when an upperclassman calls you, doucheface!" When Niou merely stared at—more like through him, like he was thin air, their senior huffed, and roughly pushed a stack of papers against his chest. "Pass this on to the captain. If I don't hear from him, you're deadmeat." He turned to Yagyuu. "Keep an eye on him."

"These are cancelled order forms for equipment," Yagyuu muttered, perusing over the sheaf of paper, as they walked towards the clubroom. "…dated last week."

Niou shrugged, slipping his hands inside his pockets.

"Why would the captain cancel these orders right before the tournaments?" Yagyuu whispered.

"Not rocket science." Niou motioned towards the closed clubroom door when they arrived. They could hear bits of the muffled conversation.

"—ing Sonoda's behind this!"

Yagyuu could only adjust his glasses atop the bridge of his nose, and without further preamble, pushed the door open. The captain, vice-captain, Yukimura and Sanada were seated on the couch facing the large whiteboard plastered on one of the clubroom's walls, where Yanagi was currently stationed. A plethora of diagrams and words were scrawled in the Data Master's neat handwriting.

"Will all due respect, vice-captain, as fascinating as it is to find out who's responsible for this mess, I think we should discuss what we need to do to remedy the situation," Yukimura spoke quietly, which ultimately stopped the senior's whining.

"We are losing our focus," Sanada crossed his arms and glared at nothing in particular. "We cannot get careless because of these distractions."

"Our current numbers are dwindling by the day. We started out with one hundred twenty-six members, but we're already down to sixteen freshmen, eighteen juniors, and fourteen seniors, a total of forty-eight members. We're not even midway into the season. This is an alarming rate of member drop-out, captain," Yanagi looked up from his data notebook.

Like Sanada, the captain had his arms crossed, and it would be no surprise if twin laserbeams were shot out of his eyes at the intensity he was glaring at the diagrams drawn on the whiteboard. "We only have two days a week to practice until six because of that energy-saving bullshit we have to comply with, and the rest of the days we're reduced to a one-hour training period. What the fuck do they expect us to do in those hours? File our nails and look pretty?" He exhaled angrily, as if by doing so would release all the stress he was currently in.

"There's no time to waste. Like you said," the vice-captain muttered, glancing at the blue-haired freshman. "We have to find a remedy. If we are short on time, we simply have to double our efforts."

"I understand that we have to make up for the lost time, but it would only be detrimental in the long-run if we stick with such a dangerously rigorous training regimen," Yukimura countered yet again. "We don't want to risk anyone getting injured right before the tournaments." Then he turned towards the doorway, where both Niou and Yagyuu stood silently.

The captain followed Yukimura's gaze, and frowned. "What do you want?"

Yagyuu held out the stack of papers. "We apologize for intruding, captain, but Miura-senpai asked us to give these to you."

"Leave them on the table." It was their cue to leave, which Yagyuu quickly picked up. He was on his way out, when he realized that Niou was still lingering around the room, the Trickster's gaze fixed on some announcements in the corkboard fixed by the door.

"Is there anything else?" the captain snapped.

Niou turned. "Why don't we let Yukimura represent us in the Council?"

* * *

After the buzz over Kiriyama and the pranks directed to her have abated, the rest of Ono's school days were blissfully busy. Aside from preparing for the career assessment tests and breezing through her lectures, she had the fast-approaching mid-terms, piled up paperwork in the Council room, and the special year-end project she was working on to preoccupy herself with. But instead of having herself snagged by the snares of a busy schedule and the amounting stress that came with it, Ono was unbound and light on her feet, thoroughly rejuvenated by it all.

A busy schedule kept her from thinking about useless things in the person of a silver-haired freshman, who had eerily receded in the shadows these past few days. She had to admit that it was good to get him off of her back now that things have become more hectic. Although she had initially wondered whether he was simply bidding his time—waiting for her to put her guard down before he finally pounced—she was more disposed to believe that it was because the current issues of the Tennis Club have finally taken its toll on every member, and that included him.

In any case, hail or sunshine, Ono was in her element.

She earned nothing but pleasant greetings when she dropped by all the clubs, both old and newly-reinstated, after dismissal—the Art Club, with their truckload of canvas and paint, the Gardening Club with their loam soil and exotic plants shipped specially from the tropical islands, to name a few. The Club Presidents, most of them her seniors, had welcomed her with bright smiles and open arms when she appeared in the doorway of their clubroom, and had thanked the Council profusely for their good faith and boatload of funds. The smaller, less popular clubs have paid their greatest gratitude because for the first time in years, they stood a chance against the colossal numbers of the more popular clubs.

There was a subtle shift in Rikkai, and the general populace embraced it.

* * *

The Tennis Club was not exactly on the same boat.

A terse silence hung over the locker rooms after afternoon practice. Half of the freshmen occupied the shower stalls while the others waited.

"What's wrong?"

It was Yukimura who broke the silence, and regarded the Strategist with a look of concern. Yanagi's head had popped out from behind the stall door and looked like he was paying close attention to something. It was only then the others noticed the eerie silence that had befallen the locker rooms, devoid of even the patter of water. A moment later, the stall door beside his had also flapped open, revealing Jackal with soap suds on his head—why he even shampooed nonexistent hair was beyond anybody.

"No water coming out from the shower." It was never a question for Yanagi, in which Jackal nodded his assent and sighed.

Niou shamelessly stepped out of the showers in his white towel—his torso glistening with unwashed soap—grabbed his water jug from his duffel, and then locked himself back inside the stall.

"Aaaah, what the hell!" Marui whined, slumping his head, defeated against the wall. "And I really wanted to have a shower before going home."

Perhaps the only consolation everyone got that afternoon was Sanada calling out everyone's attention from his stall to require some form of assistance. Because he was in the middle of washing his face, and anti-dandruff shampoo really was painful when it got to your eye.

* * *

There were two notable things that occurred in that afternoon's Student Council meeting. One, was that the representatives of the Tennis Club looked mutinous and were, for some reason, producing a very severe pungent odor. Two, and more importantly, was when the formal and organized discourse about each club's calendar of events had escalated into an explosive argument between the different clubs regarding budget allocation, Ono looked impeccably unperturbed in her seat, her hands perfectly clasped on top of her desk as she watched everything with furtive enjoyment.

Sonoda, who was seated beside her, had risen on his feet a dozen times in the past hour with hopes of attempting to establish some semblance of order in the room—attempt as the operative word. Kobayashi and Furuki, who were seated on her right, were both preoccupied with their respective tasks: the former who was steadfastly typing away on her laptop, keying in all the pertinent points of the conversations for the minutes, and the latter, currently engaged in a heated verbal battle with the tennis captain.

"What do you mean there are no funds?!"

The tennis captain slammed his fists on the table. The rest of the club presidents had been silent all this time and tried to look less smug, lest they became the subject of his anger. The first quarter of the meeting had been smooth-sailing, with the rest of the occupants of the room in total agreement to their share of the pie—after all, it was for the first time in years that they had enough money on their plate. Then it was the boys tennis team's turn, and suddenly everything veered off-course. Everyone was on edge and mostly feared not for themselves, but for the small desk that had been the recipient of the captain's repeated thumping. They won't be surprised if it was going to be splintered in half any time soon.

"I see two more fountains being built—who the fuck needs fountains?!—and you tell me we don't have funds?"

"We have good reason for the construction of those," Furuki barked. "But that's beside the point. We've already talked about the budget cut. And you agreed."

"I never agreed to having my team practice in the dark! We didn't even have water coming out of the showers! At least give us the basic necessities, for fuck's sake!"

"That," the Treasurer sighed, rubbing his temples. "…is not within our jurisdiction, unfortunately."

"Not within your jurisdiction, my ass!" He pushed his chair backwards and stood up. "I've had enough! Let me to talk to the Board. I'll make a direct appeal."

"The Board's decision is final!" Sonoda snapped, also getting on his feet.

Compared to the tennis captain's brutish countenance, Sonoda looked like a bumbling fairy king. But Ono had to hand it to the guy, at least he was trying.

"I'm afraid getting at each other's throat won't solve anything." Ono's voice had mellifluously cut through the palpable tension that hung over the room. Everyone's eyes was suddenly on her, and she took this as sign to proceed. "Senpai, it's a real shame that the tennis club has to deal with all this crap while you're in the middle of preparing for the tournaments—"

"At last, some sympathy!" The tennis captain interjected.

"—but the Council can only do so much. Even we don't have access to the financial reports on the school's utility bills." (3)

"You say that you don't have access to financial reports, but how about Sonoda? Isn't his father a member of the School Board?" It was the tennis vice-captain who spoke this time.

"What are you getting at?" When Sonoda had risen from his chair again, Ono gently grasped his upper arm and pushed him back to his seat.

"Senpai, if you are implying that the President had a hand in the utility problems your club is experiencing, then that is a grave accusation," Ono said simply. "And what reason," she paused, smiling ever so thoughtfully. "…would the Council have for sabotaging the Tennis team?"

There was a long silence.

"I promise we'll make another appeal on your behalf once we meet with the Board this summer. All we ask of you," she continued, raising a hand to signal the captain to let her continue when he looked ready to interrupt her again. "…is to be patient."

She smiled her winning smile.

"I am confident you will not let these trivial things stop you from winning the Nationals," she said positively, and added, "Also, if I may raise one last advice. Perhaps it would be more prolific for both sides if there is someone who could represent the Tennis team when we talk to the Board."

The tennis captain sighed, ruffling his hair in defeat. "So it all boils down to this?" he asked, looking at Yukimura, who was clearly amused with everything.

Ono did not say anything and simply waited, her smile seamlessly intact.

"How fearsome," Yukimura told her once the meeting was adjourned. After speaking with their tennis captain, he fell behind the rest of the committee members and club presidents who were now making a beeline for the exit. Both Sanada and Yanagi watched their exchange with blatant attentiveness.

"I only have everyone's best interest in mind," she replied simply. "I look forward to working with you, then, Honorary Member Yukimura." She looked up after stacking the papers on the table, and smiled up at her junior.

Yukimura smiled and then softly sighed, as if utterly defeated. "I seem to have no other option."

Ono stilled.

He was quick to notice the change in her demeanor. "Is there something wrong?"

She continued to stare at him, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

"Senpai?"

She snapped out of it. "What time did you arrive in school today?"

"Around quarter to seven," His eyebrows quirked. "Should I be concerned about anything?"

"No, no. It's nothing," she assured, pleasantly waving him off.

While Kobayashi bombarded both Sonoda and Furuki with questions regarding their career assessment results as they made their way towards the school gates, Ono was quiet and left to her own thoughts. The gears in her mind were working an extra mile as she contemplated and second-guessed herself about the events that took place that morning. She replayed the scene in her head. Despite the plethora of hows & whys, there was one fact that recurred in her mind:

Yukimura Seiichi's eyes were warm, and were very, very brown. (4)

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This chapter was originally 15 pages long, but I was not satisfied with how things were super fast-paced between Niou and Ono. Build-up, people. Plus it lacked cohesion. I've lost count of how many times I've rewritten this, tbh. It was difficult, truly. And dialogue can be such a pain in the ass, y'know? Mine always comes out so awkward alkjalfkjasa.

 **P.S:** Did you scroll up to check out what's up with Yukimura's eyes? I don't know if I was pushing it, but hopefully I got the desired effect. Which was to baffle you guys, lol. Unless. You noticed from the beginning? If you did, here's a virtual cookie. :)

 **Extras:**

(1) Station Ono gets out of every day from Tokyo to Kanagawa. We can assume that Niou lives somewhere in between.

(2) The article entitled, "House electricity bills surged 25% after 2011 nuclear disaster" on kyodonews is unfortunately not available unless you are a subscriber. Which I am not. But. Electric bills did increase as a consequence of the Fukushima Power Plant disaster which affected the entirety of Tokyo. For my story's purposes, I shall extend it to Kanagawa. Because Ono needs an excuse, too, tbh.

(3) I have no idea if this is really what happens in Japanese Private High Schools? I did encounter an article on the transparency of financial reports in Public High Schools but not in Private HS/Unis in the US? SO. Or is this something supposed to be obvious to everyone. I dunno, haha. I try, guys. I try.

(4) Anime!Yukimura has blue eyes, but manga!Yukimura has brown eyes. Sticking to the manga yet again… because plot device.

 **Replies:**

SilverSapphire34532: I liked that part, too! Hope it wasn't OOC or anything, haha. Hopefully, this chapter was to your liking as well!

Trixter: Humor's definitely not my strongest point, so I'm really glad you found it funny. And you're right, this chapter was totally Ono's, yes? Thank you for your kind thoughts and enthusiasm for my story. I really appreciate it. :)

BloodyRites: Oh, yeah. Thank you for that tip about Ono's response to Kiriyama being confusing. What I really wanted to show was Ono's blackmailing skillzzz. I guess I'll just edit it again some time to make it clearer. I'm also happy you find my characters intriguing and interesting! Hope you liked this one! Especially the part when we were given a glimpse of Ono's conflict with her family. :)

HEHE: Thank you for enthusiasm! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

Fierce Naga: Your review gave me butterflies. I like butterflies. Ono's dichotomous personality is admittedly very difficult to write, so it makes me very happy that you like how she's turned out so far. Niou, I admit, is still a tad shady for me. Even more difficult to write than Ono, given that we see so little of him in the tenipuri anime and manga, so I started writing this fic with little confidence in his character. I do have something planned for him, and it'll be a tad bit different from the usual showy Niou he's portrayed as in other fics, so I really appreciate your enthusiasm towards how I'll shape him. As for my writing style? THANK YOU. I try. :)

Guest: I'm glad my story's wordiness did not deter you from reading up this point haha! And yessss I am gunning for something more realistic, so I'm happy it was not lost on you. Thank you for reading and leaving a review!

Arford: Hopefully this chapter was to your liking! More updates in the future, but no guarantee it will be soon. :))


	5. Roses are Red, Unlike Marui's Head

**Author's Note:** It's been a year, shoot. Didn't intend to let you guys wait this long. Anyway, so we're finally going to get a taste of some long overdue Niou/Ono! Nothing too hot (yet) *winks* and a wee bit of crack from our favorite Rikkai regulars.

 **Recap:** Ono got Yukimura to join the Student Council as the Tennis Club faces "issues". Meanwhile, apart from the strange encounter with Ono in the train, Niou has been eerily tame for the past week (yes, that's Niou disguised as Yukimura). It makes us all wonder whether he has yielded to his senpai's pigheadedness, or is concocting something larger in retaliation… meh, who are we kidding. He's definitely got something up his sleeve.

* * *

 **Trap 5  
** Roses are Red, Unlike Marui's Head

Saturdays were allotted for cram school, scheduled from seven in the morning to five in the afternoon. After being promoted to the junior level last March, Ono tried to convince Kobayashi to sign up with her, but her friend stated as a matter-of-factly that they had _more than a year_ before university exams and what good was youth if their only recollection of weekends was the hollow walls of review institutes in urban Tokyo. Kobayashi was adamant to spend her remaining months of freedom living frivolously, to be a girl whose greatest worries would be missing out on the latest fashion trends and facing rejections from the hottest guys in school. She believed they would have all the time in the world to study their hearts out come senior year, so there really was no need for them, especially _the_ Ono Sakurako, to rush things.

Despite the convincing arguments, Ono thought that Kobayashi was being careless.

But she let it slide because she could not fault her friend's line of thinking. Kobayashi's only goal was to graduate from Rikkai and get into a university with a good fashion design program. Considering the rigorous curriculum adopted by Rikkai, improved and tempered over the years, 95% of the student population got into their choice universities. Added the fact that most of them aimed to get into Tokyo University and succeeded. So as long as Kobayashi maintained her current academic standing and graduated without a hitch, getting into a good college was not a worry.

Ono's goals were of a different tier, however, which was why in spite of Kobayashi's valid reasoning, she was not deterred from enrolling herself in a review institute.

There was no harm in getting that extra edge.

More importantly, it was a valid excuse not to go home.

"…once said, 'The mark of an immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one…'" (1)

It was Literature class. She normally would have been mulling over the instructors' words and tediously writing her notes, but her eyes had been glued to the minute hand of the wall clock for the past hour as it ticked closer to twelve. When the dismissal bell rang, the students shuffled out of their seats and swarmed into the review institute's rundown lobby, with her at the forefront. The classrooms were fraught with the tension of upcoming exams, and the greying walls created the perfect atmosphere of gloom that the sight of an enormous, festive pink-striped box waiting atop the front desk easily caught attention.

The faint scent of strawberries, chocolate, and cream filled her senses as she approached it. Suddenly, the footsteps of the students all rushing to spend their Saturday elsewhere was muted and replaced by her father's booming laughter as he wiped a dollop of icing on her mother's nose. The institute's grey walls morphed into the lemon yellow wallpaper of the homey kitchen of their old home. Ten-year-old Sakurako was steadfastly sneaking the tub of strawberry ice cream from the freezer, up the staircase, and into her bedroom. Meanwhile, her father was appeasing the wrath of her mother with a cheesy love song. Her mother had always been a willing victim to her father's crooning voice, which was why she never stayed mad at him for too long.

He was Sakurako's perfect partner-in-crime.

The vibration in her pocket snapped her from her reverie—she was back at the lacklustre review institute.

With a sigh, she typed in her passcode. Her screen flashed twenty-one unread messages in her inbox, not to mention the plethora of notifications in all her social media accounts. Lengthy posts. Succinct ones. Emails with pictures and stickers, which read:

 _Happy birthday, Ako-chan!_

.

.

.

Kobayashi and the rest of the crew were swift to respond to her invitation to one of the hipper restaurants in the metro. An hour later, Ono was burying her face against Kobayashi's arm in pseudo-embarrassment as the rest of her friends sang a tone-deaf "Happy Birthday" at the top of their lungs in one of the private booths of the restaurant, with the elaborately-decorated cake her mother baked her as the centerpiece to their little feast. After a round of obligatory well-wishes and tomfoolery, the conversation finally veered towards everyone's favorite: gossip.

Ono was not at all surprised that her friends had steered the first topic of conversation towards the sports teams. The general consensus, sans Ono (but, of course, she kept it to herself), was there was just something about boys in sweat-drenched jerseys, screaming testosterone, that made them gaga. So it was inevitable that they eventually talked about the Tennis Club. As a proud representative of the Student Council, Kobayashi had been initially vocal about the failure of leadership within that current thorn of a club, and after speaking flak about the delusional tennis captain, shifted gears and gushed about how especially prince-like Yukimura was. The rest of her friends had no problem adding fuel to the hot topic that was Rikkai's current most eligible bachelor (after Sonoda, they all insisted).

Ono could only mentally shake her head in disbelief.

It's been about two weeks since school started, and Ono has had enough time to gather whatever information she could procure about their new Honorary Member. Based on school records, Yukimura was an exemplary student and a highly competent leader. Among the students and staff, he was well-respected and loved. Majority of the female population in her batch had known the enigmatic freshman since Junior High, and had been more than willing to recount their accounts, not to mention delusions, involving the proclaimed Child of God. Thorough information-gathering has made her aware of the story surrounding his recovery from Guillain-Barre Syndrome, the dozen tennis scouts at his disposal (and counting), and his being single—the latter being the most important detail in the current discourse dominated by her friends, whose judgment was currently clouded with their out-of-control pheromones.

Simply put, Yukimura was extremely likable, and there was no denying Ono liked Yukimura.

Specifically, liked the _idea_ of Yukimura.

He was the epitome of intelligence, grace, and power. Add in a dash of ambition and charm to the mix, and he was perfection himself.

Recruiting him has been one of her most noteworthy victories to date, given that student apathy for council projects, from a staggering 50 percent took a dramatic nosedive to a measly 10 percent once Yukimura was officially inducted in office. Suddenly, their activities were teeming with participants and the committees flourished with members, who would exhibit exemplary performance as to not disappoint the object of their affection.

It was win-win for everyone, really.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she drank generous gulps of her milkshake.

"There's this other freshman that caught my attention. Platinum hair."

Ono almost choked on her straw.

"He's been really popular lately. Has that bad boy image going on."

"Oh, _him_! Yeah, he's pretty cool, isn't he? Not too friendly with the girls, but it's part of his charm."

"Even my team's got their eyes on him," Kobayashi admitted. "Remember when we announced the amendments in the dress code last week, Ako-chan? Rumor has it that Masafumi-sensei scolded the guy for his hair color, what with it being shockingly silver and all. You know what the freshman said? Said he had a rare case of albinism." (2)

"Noooo!"

"It was bullshit obviously, and Masafumi-sensei knew it. So the freshman invited him to the bathroom, and a few minutes later, Masafumi-sensei looked like he saw a ghost when he stepped out. The freshman was free to go. Just like that."

"Did he bribe him? Or… oh. _My god_. You don't think—?"

"He flashed him—"

"—his silver curls down under!"

"That's what the other cheerleaders intend to find out," Kobayashi smoothed out the pleats of her skirt, as if she was just talking about the socks in her dryer.

The other girls burst into a fit of giggles.

Ono felt like bashing her head against the table.

* * *

For someone who liked to bask in the company of his own thoughts—which if someone as poetic as Yanagi were to describe it, was a constellation of both insightful and dangerous mental conceptions—it was something of a feat to function in an environment that was bursting with movement and chatter. Café Bon was packed. The hustle and bustle of both customers and servers moving about should have at least put a dent on the metal barrier that was his concentration, but his working pace was unscathed as he unceasingly scribbled walls of equations on his notebook. His iPad was propped on his table, the screen flashing the image of a particular seaweed head who took it upon himself to inform his beloved senpai-tachi of his endeavors as Rikkai Junior's esteemed Tennis Captain.

Niou proceeded with his schoolwork, and did not bother to show any sign of interest as Akaya proceeded with his chatter in a heated fashion. It was amusing how graduating from Junior High did not stop the Three Demons from doting on him, as if he was still that whiny little brat who first appeared in their courts three years ago, the Junior Ace that warranted their full attention. The future pillar of Rikkai Dai. It was a heavy burden to bear, but Akaya had proven, rather _claimed_ , to be handling his captaincy well so far. After Akaya consulted Yanagi with his team's current tennis regimen, the topic of conversation shifted to the campus clean-up that took place over Spring Break.

"They said the principal was ready to explode when he gave his speech. Said whoever attempts to pull another mo-monsterity—"

"Monstrosity, Akaya."

"—monstrosity against the faculty would be blacklisted from the Rikkai Dai system. There's a bunch of new teachers because apparently there was mass resignation right after graduation. I'm not really sad to see those teachers go though, I mean _five_ suicide attempts in one year? Jesus."

"And what were you doing during opening ceremony that you had to rely on your classmates' anecdotes, pray tell, Akaya-kun?"

"Sleeping, I'm one hundred percent sure."

" _Tarundoru!_ " (3)

Akaya wisely ignored them. "But Niou-senpai, you sure gave them hell, huh?"

Niou's scribbling slowed as his focus zeroed in on their group chat, having been addressed for the first time.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Aww, come on! Who else could have set those—whoa!"

Marui had appeared beside Akaya and Jackal, who had been silently perusing a tennis pamphlet behind Akaya the entire time. Marui's arrival had prompted an exaggerated show of "make-faces" from their junior, which only seemed to dampen the Volley Specialist's mood even more. The previously bubblegum red head was now jet black.

"What the fuck, Niou! Your hair's still bleached!"

The twitch in Niou's mouth was the only indication that he had acknowledged Marui's protest at all.

"Niou-senpai said it's a genetic disorder," Akaya offered, smug for volunteering the information. "What was the term? Alb… Albus…?"

"Dumbledore," Niou offered.

"That doesn't sound right," Akaya muttered.

"It's albinism, you egghead," Marui sighed, exasperated. "Which is a load of crap. You're fucking captain of the tennis team and you still fall for his tricks?"

Akaya's face was beet as he mumbled a string of incomprehensible words. Curses, most probably.

"Oh, but it's true," Niou responded, folding his arms on the table and finally turning his full attention towards his iPad to join in on the conversation. "I even got a medical certificate from Yagyuu's brother to prove it."

"Which I haven't agreed to," Yagyuu's face popped up at the corner of the screen.

"Niou. You already received your first warning this week," It was Sanada. "We can't have you suspended from club activities just because of your nonsensical whims."

"They are not 'nonsensical whims'. The Student Council are assholes, that's what… no offense, Yukimura."

"None taken," Yukimura replied. "But it's important to understand that WASC accreditors (4) will be visiting the school next week. The Council officers are doing their very best to make sure that everything is set before they arrive. Including the strict implementation of the dress code."

"Blue looks very good on you, Yukimura." Niou smiled sweetly.

"You know very well that this is my natural hair color, Niou-kun, and that I am not the type of person to resort to immature acts such as dying my pubic hair just to make a fool out of everybody." Yukimura mirrored the gesture, but the threat behind it was evident.

"Speaking of," Marui piped in before Niou could dig himself a bigger hole. A huge pink-striped box came into view. He brightened when he took off the lid and saw what was inside. "Chocolate decadence! Nice."

"Marui, don't forget your blood sugar's pre-diabetic, and you still have to lose 1.5 lbs before the start of the Prefecturals."

"It's a slice, Renji!" Marui begged. "Besides it would be such a waste when Ono-senpai gave it to me!"

Sanada's eyebrows rose. "Vice-President Ono?"

"I ran into her from the salon earlier. She was buying a bouquet of flowers for her mother, who apparently, baked this cake for her birthday. Had some left." Another spoonful of cake. "It's really good."

"Why would Ono-fukutaichou give you cakes out of the blue?"

"Because she's nice," was Marui's earnest response after swallowing a spoonful of cake.

* * *

It was a Saturday night, so of course there was a crowd. Albeit a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, the place has been getting a lot of buzz lately due to its homey interiors and its excellent espresso-based beverages. Ono traversed the small aisles in search of a vacant table, careful not to hit anyone with the huge bouquet of red roses cradled in her right arm. Heads turned as she walked past, but she seemingly paid no heed to them.

Then she saw it: a vacant table by the corner.

She made a beeline for the table, dropped her belongings as if to save the spot, and was in turn severely disappointed. A stack of notebooks and a huge sketchpad lay unceremoniously beside a half-filled mug of coffee. Her eyes were immediately drawn towards the sketches of what looked like… legs. There were a couple of them on the page, legs with knobs and screws, legs with plasters of metal, and legs with other funny contraptions. (5)

The artist clearly had some sort of leg fetish.

Moreover, the table was clearly occupied.

In the corner of her eye, a figure neared the booth. She looked up, and saw the last person she expected to see.

Niou was still in his full tennis outfit, the Rikkai yellow immaculately blinding under the fluorescent lighting of the booth. She caught the flicker of surprise on his face, but he was as adept as she was in smoothing out unwanted expressions. When he seemed to have gathered his wits, his form became more relaxed, and his characteristic slouch took over as he jammed a fist in his shorts' pocket. He was fixed on the spot. Waiting. Waiting for what exactly, she wasn't sure.

Then it hit her.

 _Oh._

She was blocking the way to his table. The table with that huge sketchpad. The sketchpad with the funny leg sketches.

He smirked as he watched realization dawning on her and god knows what other thoughts flitted across her head as she looked at him with a mixture of repugnance and curiosity. To prevent giving him the satisfaction of gaining an inkling of what it was she was thinking about, she backtracked and walked out on him without saying a word, her vanilla-scented perfume the only indication that she had been standing right in front of him moments before.

Ono stood out among the other female patrons in the café that night. The bouquet of red roses in her arms seemed to have boosted her charms ten-fold—it made her look desirable. He watched her cross the hall before returning back to his seat, as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. A few moments into his sketching, his thoughts wandered. Eventually, he flipped the pad close.

She was currently talking to one of the waiters. Her expression was expectant as she gesticulated with her free hand. The waiter looked apologetic, bowed his head a few times, and then headed on his merry way behind the counter. Scowling, she brought out her cellphone and began jabbing angrily at the keypad as she stepped out of the café.

He leaned forward and poked the pink umbrella left forgotten beside his coffee mug.

* * *

When it rained, it poured.

And there literally was a downpour waiting for her.

Ono had eventually come to peace that Café Bon had long ways to go when it came to their customer rotation rate. After mentally going through all her options, she had convinced herself that the best solution was to change the meeting place. She could easily get a cab, but because the café had a large lawn right outside the patio where the umbrellas were, it was quite a distance from the main road. It was theoretically possible to get to the other side if she used her umbrella or made a run for it. Realistically speaking, however, it was unlikely, considering she had left her umbrella and would rather dance Macarena naked than go back and face the freshman, or charge forward, and in turn ruin her bouquet.

But she knew her options were limited, and the best ones pointed to her going back to the damn café.

 _Sakurako, you big idiot._

When she turned around, Niou was sitting on one of the chairs in the patio. She didn't know how long he had been sitting there, watching her squirm. But presently he was studying the water cascading from the edge of the roof, and tucked under his arm was her pink umbrella.

By the quirk of his mouth, she could tell he was clearly enjoying this.

Again, waiting. Waiting for her to _beg_.

What an insufferable prick.

* * *

Ono watched Niou from the rim of her coffee mug.

They were back inside the cafe, safe and warm from the torrential downpour. She had taken the seat across his, and after the waiter had taken her order, she was left to endure the awkwardness of the prevailing silence and being left alone with him. It was discomfiting to be hanging out with the guy who made her first two weeks of school hell, as well as someone who gave off the impression he would stick his leg out and trip you just for the heck of it. Maybe she was too quick to judge, but her anxiety was justified because she knew nothing—or rather, could not get ahold of any pertinent intel about Niou apart from his full name, his section, and his notorious image of a troublemaker. And wasn't that a justifiable source of fear? The fear of an enigma?

She took a quick sip, and burned her tongue.

From her vantage point, Niou was preoccupied with scribbling on his notebook. His pale hair was luminescent against the dark wooden walls of the booth, and she allowed her gaze to travel from the crown of his head down to his collar where his rat-tail was snugly tucked in. How tempting it was to reach for the scissors in her backpack and snip it off the back of his head. Thoughts of vengeance aside, it made her wonder why he would go to such extremes with his appearance. To catch attention? To pay tribute to the wonders of nonconformity?

"Oni-senpai."

She blew the steam off her cup.

"Have you ever heard of subtlety?"

She took another sip—the heat was tolerable this time—unperturbed with being caught staring. "Have you finally renounced your devilish ways and decided to become a good student?"

"Whoever said they were mutually exclusive."

She suddenly thought of herself in that regard, _Touche._

But still she could say she was more than surprised to see Niou so focused on his schoolwork. For someone who paraded around school as if he did not give a shit about anything, he sure did give a shit about his homework. Maybe he was flunking, which was why he was exerting the extra effort to catch up with his lessons? He wouldn't be able to play tennis if he failed to maintain a certain weighted average. That would make a lot more sense. Careful to set her mug aside, she leaned over her side of the table and took a peek at what he was working on.

"This isn't freshman Mathematics," she blurted out, wide-eyed.

Her face was a few inches from Niou now, and she could almost see the lighter specks of blue in his eyes. "No. It's awesome Mathematics."

Ono leaned back in her seat and looked at Niou, as if she was truly seeing him for the first time. Niou, on his part, was looking at her with a tinge of amusement and exasperation, as if he was regretting he let her sit with him in the first place.

He was such a strange boy. A strange boy full of contradictions. He dyed his hair platinum and wore it like a crown—it was his identifier, the color that easily stood out among the sea of boring blacks and browns. He ruthlessly pulled tricks on people, did things without regard for their feelings, this coming from first-hand experience. Weren't these all desperate attempts to get attention? Yet he sneaked around in coffee shops late at night to work on high-level mathematics and impressive leg sketches, albeit creepy, as if he refused to let people know about his whereabouts or what he was up to. Pure speculation, of course. It was highly possibly that he was not really hiding his genius, but his notorious reputation which sent both girls and faculty reeling preceded him.

Simply put, she knew next to nothing about Niou Masaharu.

To her credit, she refused to badger him with more questions and brought out her own materials to preoccupy herself with. They worked on their respective homework for the next hour. By the time Ono was finished translating her French assignment, she caught Niou looking at her, and he seemed just as adamant as she was to break the contact first, like it was some sort of game they both suddenly decided to play.

It was 9 o'clock.

She had initially wondered whether it was a stroke of bad luck she stumbled upon Niou that night and whether she ought to bid her goodbye now that the café was less crowded, but after cantering over the pros and cons of her situation, she decided staying put would be the _more convincing_ arrangement.

She yielded, and grabbed for her now cold cup of coffee.

"Listen, Niou-kun."

She took a sip.

"I understand you refuse to abide by the new dress code because it ruins your, err... individuality."

 _I know you're an insufferable prick and refuse to back down._

 _"_ And seeing how adamant you are, I'm a little concerned. The threat of a suspension remains once you receive your fourth warning."

 _It pisses me off how pigheaded you are._

"Just say what you want to say," he drawled, his eyes piercing.

Her phone was vibrating. _I'm here,_ the message read.

Ono stood up from her chair.

* * *

Niou had learned over the weeks that to underestimate Ono would be like subjecting himself to a full-body yips from Yukimura. (6) Which would render him immobile, thus incapable of action, and ultimately absolutely _fucking_ useless. So what would be the best course of action? His usual route when it came to solving problems that did _not_ have anything to do with numbers was to dig deep and pull out the roots—a simple and direct approach.

Alas, that did not work with her.

Because dealing with her was like treading on thin ice: there was no guarantee his next step would _not_ be his last. For someone who reveled in the promise of a good challenge, he felt himself winded with excitement whenever she succeeded in her attempts, or more accurately, when he let her think she had him backed in a corner. It was all thanks to his knack for psychological warfare, which Ono appeared to be rather fond of.

So he was only mildly surprised when she suddenly transferred to the seat beside his and gently held his hand on the table. Her hand was small and smooth against the calloused expanse of his palm. She sidled up beside him, the left side of her body desperately flushed against his, and her perfume intoxicating. She dipped her head towards him, her movements painstakingly slow, moving closer and _closer_ until her lips hovered above the corner of his mouth.

"I'm about to see someone I really hate, so I want you to play along," she breathed, her statement leaving no room for questions. "I'll rally against the dress code after the accreditation."

He said nothing and simply looked at her.

 _"_ I'll also have the rooftop unlocked during class hours."

She had looked at the general direction of the figure approaching their table—a tall male donning the distinct Hyotei tennis uniform—and waved, then looked back at him, waiting.

Her eyes were bright and full of possibilities.

.

.

.

Niou intertwined their fingers and brushed his lips against the valleys of her knuckles.

She smiled at him, as if he was the light and salt of the world.

Well, _fuck._

"Sakurako, it's nice to see you again."

"Asao, this is Niou. Niou, Asao."

Niou saw the way Asao's expression darkened when his eyes landed upon his uniform. Asao radiated the familiar flair of arrogance of someone born from luxury, and beneath the mitigated countenance of a golden boy, his eyes were hooded with something even darker, almost savage.

"I can't say I'm delighted that you've developed queer preferences."

Ono deliberately removed her hand from his and _accidentally_ touched the bouquet on the table. Asao's eyes which had been previously glued to their hands were now on the red roses. It was only then Niou noticed the small card peeking from the bouquet's pink wrapper, where _Ono Sakurako_ was written in big cursive. (7)

* * *

Ono had sauntered off alone on the sidewalk while Niou ambled on the pavement barred with metal railings overlooking Tokyo Bay. Suburban houses loomed over the deserted street between them. A few cars sped past, shielding their view of each other. His bright yellow uniform and platinum hair glinted against the black canvass of the scenery dotted with blinking city lights from the distance. She had worn a darker ensemble, and easily blended with the somber walls of the residences.

When they broke into the livelier portion of suburban Tokyo, Ono had disappeared into one of the convenience stores, leaving Niou to watch her retreating form from the other side of the road.

.

.

.

"What'd you get?"

Niou was leaning against one of the walls of the store, and pushed himself off to evaluate the package in her hand when she got out.

"Stuff," she answered curtly, recovering from the initial surprise of his appearance. Although they were headed towards the same train station, she wasn't expecting him to stick around. They had mutually agreed to punctuate their unexpected rendezvous as soon as they stepped out of Café Bon. But here he was, looking at her as if he expected to be let in on the secret. She handed him a plastic bag. "A little bonus."

He gasped comically when he saw the bottles of beer in the paper bag.

Ono smiled, flashing him her fake ID.

.

.

.

Niou was a good two meters away from Ono who was hunched over one of the electric posts on the pavement. They walked a short distance from the convenience store and arrived in an abandoned playground adjacent the main road. A comfortable silence reigned as Niou watched Ono down the contents of a bottle, walk over to the junction of the main road and the playground, and position the empty bottle beside the post. She plucked three red roses from her bouquet and placed it in the bottle.

From where he sat, he could barely make out the expression on Ono's face.

It was only when she lit one of the sparklers she got from the store that he was able to see her.

Ono Sakurako's mask was gone, and all that was left to see was bare melancholy.

He took a sip from his own bottle and looked up at the night sky, feeling he had just witnessed something surreptitious.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Damn. That was a lot of stuff for a "filler" chapter. Emphasis on both Ono and Niou's character. Hope they were a bit more solid. I dropped hints regarding Ono's past, so I'll leave you guys to figure out what the heck she was doing in the abandoned playground. Moping around. Also! I'd love to hear your thoughts re Niou's character in general! Not _my_ interpretation, but _yours_. Why do you think he'd always go out of his way to create trouble?

(Also, poor Marui.)

 **Extras:**

(1) A quote from one of my favorite classics, _Catcher in the Rye._ May or may not be relevant to this story, teehee. Just keep on reading, I guess.  
(2) Albinism is a rare group of genetic disorder that causes skin, hair, or eyes to have little or no color. A defect in one of the several genes that produce/distribute melanin (which is responsible for skin/hair color) causes this condition. This usually occurs with vision problems. As far as I know, Niou has excellent vision, so.  
(3) Don't slack off!  
(4) WASC (or the Western Association of Schools and Colleges) Accreditation will make Rikkai Dai's already pretty reputation look even _prettier_ , to put it bluntly.  
(5) Nope, Niou does _not_ have a leg fetish. It's a hint though.  
(6) Yips? Yikes! Medically, it's referred to as focal dystonia, a neurological dysfunction affecting certain muscles. The most common symptoms associated with this are involuntary muscle jerks, tremors, twitches, or freezing. (Mayo Clinic) If you watched the POT OVA, you'll know what I'm talking about, anyway?  
(7) Ono lied about buying the flowers for her mother. She bought them for herself, which was all part of her plan to get back at our detestable side character, Asao Tatsuya (who will remain as a side character… for now).

 **Up Next:** Niou's counterattack begins.


	6. An Eye for a Head

**Author's Note:** Lights, camera, _**action**_! Pretty long chapter ahead featuring the Emperor and the Gentleman.

 **Recap:** Niou successfully (?) slips past the new dress code. Ono mopes and schemes during her birthday.

* * *

 **Trap 6  
** An Eye for a Head, A Tooth for the Entire Human Body

In her sixteen years of existence, there were only two instances when Ono was rendered so helpless that she literally bawled her eyes out.

One, it was when Sachiko, a gorgeous golden retriever her godmother got her for Christmas, lay lifeless on the porch of their home one April afternoon. They suspected poor Sachiko died of heat stroke, and Ono had been ready to move on with her life as a spoiled kindergartner, frolicking around in tutu skirts and playing make-believes, if they hadn't seen the bitten dark chocolate bar buried underneath the sea of dog biscuits in Sachiko's bowl. It was Ono's chocolate bar—the unsweetened chocolate bar peppered with _blasphemous_ raisins and nuts she threw away in disgust the previous night. (1) Sachiko, how could she?! That stupid, gluttonous b—there was a reason why the leftover chocolate was on the floor, smooshed by her furry magenta boots! (Never mind that she was a dog, and dogs had no cerebral function to distinguish what to eat and not to eat). Completely consumed by guilt, five-year-old Ono had holed up in her room, crying, and unknowingly missed the _nikujaga_ her mother cooked for dinner. It was her favorite. (2)

Two, it was the spring of her second year in Junior High. A bunch of upperclassmen had botched up her school uniform as she swam laps during P.E. class, all because the star-player of the Basketball team had asked her out to the Star Festival, which she had turned down with no reservations. She stood her ground—she'd had her fair share of bullying since elementary that the sight of her tattered uniform when she returned to the locker rooms merely elicited a long, exasperated sigh, to the disappointment of the perpetrators. The day of the Star Festival was her thirteenth birthday, and she promised to enjoy the festivities with her father. But on his way back home from one of his shows, he was ploughed down by an SUV in one of the streets in suburban Tokyo. God, it was like the world stopped spinning when the police officers told them about what happened. It was a hit-and-run. She cried a river.

If she had to be completely honest, the current situation was as close to a third as it was going to get, with several factors coming into play. Having convinced herself that it must have been the dysmenorrhea kicking in, compounded with the stress of the upcoming exams and WASC accreditation visit, Ono allowed herself a few moments to regress as she remained sprawled on her bedroom floor, the tears _threatening_ to stream down her face. Her room was a sight to behold—her bed unmade, bags overturned and various items littering the carpet.

She rolled on her side, writhed like a worm for a few seconds, then buried her nose on the floor.

.

.

.

Ono Sakurako's planner was nowhere to be found.

.

.

.

Before passing on hasty judgments, one has to understand that the pink moleskin planner—which cost two months' worth of her allowance—she rewarded herself with after getting into Rikkaidai was imperative for one Ono Sakurako to function. It was not a diary, per se, and maybe she was being _wee_ melodramatic, but blood and sweat were poured into every page (as well as every possible color of sticky note brandishing her loopy cursive in equally colorful ink). An entire semester's worth of schedule was in that planner—she had invested so much time, effort, and _ink_ —and without a full-fledged itinerary of everything she had to accomplish—and boy, did she have _a lot to_ accomplish in _so little_ time—it was as if she had lost her _arm._

More important were the secret memorabilia inserted in the pockets of the cover: polaroids of her friends, receipts from dinner dates, and buttons she received from the boys of previous middle school, to name a few. They possess irreplaceable value, a solid reminder that she was not a mere passing entity on this planet earth, but a person who was acknowledged and loved. Those potpourri boosted her morale, her life source during awful days (such as these), unlike her lost to-do lists, albeit important, which can easily be accounted for.

Ono thrived in her schedules, but she _breathed_ those tokens.

So imagine her state of desperation when she realized that the planner, which she always made sure was secured in the front compartment of her backpack, was missing. She was at the doorstep of Café Bon at precisely 7AM (when it opened) the next day, and after a futile interrogation of the waiters and manager for the lost item, she immediately turned to her MacBook to scrounge her library for personal archives of all thirty hundred students of Rikkai Dai Fuzoku. She scrolled down, looking for one particular folder that would stopper her bursting anxiety.

 _Class I-C Male -_ _Student Number 14 - Niou Masaharu_

She dialed the number.

" _Hello?"_

"Niou-kun, it's Ono."

There was a pause in the other line.

"Niou-kun." Her voice was shaking. "I left my planner on the table last night, came back to the café to look for it, but it wasn't there. I asked around. Nobody else saw it. I swear to god if this is another one of your tricks, nothing will stop me from using both stilettos to crush your balls. I'd stomp on them so hard, and squish them like grapes that you won't be able to run around for the tennis ball for days, much less walk—"

" _Ono-senpai."_

She stilled, catching herself. In her anguish, she had completely lost control of her emotions. In that split second of self-awareness, she had also realized that something was not right.

" _I'm sorry…"_

Aha.

"… _but it appears you have the wrong number…"_

What **.**

"… _This is Yagyuu Hiroshi of Class I-A…"_

Oh my god.

"… _I would like to apologize for any sort of distress Niou-kun has caused you…"_

Oh my _fucking_ god.

" _...If you'd prefer, I can, uh, pass on your…message…"_

She felt like hurling her phone at the opposite wall. Punching a hole on the floor. Committing bloody murder.

"… _or would you prefer I give you his number instead?"_

Ono Sakurako would _not_ cry.

Especially over a freshman boy like Niou.

.

.

.

Her alarm clock beeped in the quiet, and it read 『 5:00 A.M. 』

She sat up from her position on the floor, and headed straight for the bathroom.

There was no way she could have typed down the wrong information under Niou's name, not when Yagyuu Hiroshi was a student of Class I-A, and it would have made more sense if she had interchanged Niou's number with a classmate. She _always_ double-checked and verified all data she input in her stocked files, which would mean that Niou had purposely duped the Student Council.

She pressed her forehead against the tiles of her shower, fervently wishing that the lukewarm water could just wash away all her troubles.

* * *

Sanada Genichirou could feel his bowels churning.

It was a week before the District Preliminaries, and despite the onslaught of problems the Tennis Club had to face the past week, they have risen above their situation. It was to be expected—they will not be pulled down by trivial matters. Albeit the shortened practice periods, training proceeded swimmingly. More so, unlike their last year of Junior High, Sanada didn't have the burden of leading the Tennis Team to the Nationals as vice-captain, as well as having to deal with trouble in the form of one Kirihara Akaya. So in reality, his stress should not be skyrocketing to alarming levels.

There was the issue of Renji attempting to include a special juice mix into their training regimen, however, possibly influenced by Seigaku's Inui (and Sanada becoming the unwilling guinea pig to sample his first few mixes, by virtue of their close friendship as well as his impeccable mental grit), which was a way to address their shortened practice hours, Sanada supposed. It appeared Renji was driven to a corner that he resorted to such desperate measures to prepare the team. But these were small matters—there were physiological responses he could rely on that would rid him of any toxic substance found in the drink.

Right?

It was all in the mind, and Sanada being Sanada, whose fortitude was an impenetrable fortress, would not be unfazed by such small matters.

As he stood patiently outside the cubicle in one of the outdoor restrooms, he couldn't help but recall a certain conversation that was also partly responsible for his condition.

"Niou won't be attending practice for the rest of the week because of detention," Yagyuu informed the rest of the team during morning practice.

"He's got a week's worth of detention?" Marui whistled.

"I was informed unless he dyes his hair back, he's banned from tennis practice."

 _My mind is an impenetrable fortress._

It was only a matter of willpower that he was able to resist from marching all the way to the faculty room, where Niou was apparently serving hours of his detention and smack him upside down. For the life of him, Sanada couldn't understand why Niou was being so pigheaded about keeping his current color, as if to dye it black would render him impotent. Whatever his reasons, Sanada would not stand for such impertinence, especially if it would jeopardize Niou's tennis.

To have Niou get kicked out of the tennis team would mean that the Three Demons have become failures for mentors, and Sanada would have none of that.

His eyes fluttered open.

All the cubicles were still closed. A quick glance at his wristwatch told him that over ten minutes have passed. He pushed each door to confirm, but they would not budge. No matter, patience was one of his greatest virtues. Another five minutes passed, and then he finally knocked on the doors.

There was no response.

He bent down for a quick peek, and lo and behold, a pair of feet were firmly planted on the tiles.

"Aa, I apologize," he said quickly.

"Genichirou."

He looked up, and saw Yukimura regarding him, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed in concern. The running water was the only thing that could be heard in the silence that followed as Sanada carefully pushed himself off the floor and got on his feet, ignoring his friend's pointed but wordless demand for an explanation.

"Nature calls," was his only explanation. His bowels was a roaring dragon that was taking every ounce of his willpower to tame. "I have to go. See you, Seiichi."

He had never brisk-walked as quickly in his life, and it was only thanks to his years of mental training that he could keep himself from dashing through the courtyard, the lobby, and straight into the nearest boys' restroom. A classmate greeted him amiably when he entered, but he ignored him and made a beeline for the cubicles which were all occupied as well.

"Are you alright, Sanada?"

It was not Sanada's character to pin the blame on someone, even if the most reasonable culprit was Renji who should have known better than to adopt Inui's _illogical_ methods. Or the unidentified students who were taking _eons_ to do their business. But he could never fault Renji, not when he only always had the best intentions for the team, as well as the students who were only satisfying biological needs as human beings. There was no way Sanada could blame them for his unfortunate happenstance—it was immature and totally unbecoming of a dignified individual.

He could only take responsibility for not having enough strength to resist the _urge._

If Akaya managed to fight his inner demons, Sanada would not be beaten. More importantly, it was only a few minutes before the homeroom bell rang, and he was _never_ late.

To give up without a fight would dishonor a warrior's code—if he had to get through this ordeal by sheer willpower, then he _must_ try.

Five minutes later, Sanada was in his seat, looking as dignified and calm as possible despite the current shitstorm that was his bowels. Sitting had only made things worse (3), but at this point, homeroom had begun and the only thing he could do was distract himself.

 _Lao Tzu said, "Whatever is fluid, soft, and yielding will overcome whatever is rigid and hard. What is soft is strong." Your mind is fluid, soft, and yielding, Genichirou._

At the back of his mind, a tiny voice had whispered, _So is your…_

He could feel his muscles straining.

.

.

.

『 9:30 A.M. – Morning rounds 』

.

.

.

Ono was on edge.

The hullabaloo with her planner had gotten her on the wrong foot that Monday morning, and she's been functioning on a lot of nervous energy ever since she got to school. She had intended to confront Niou before homeroom started to demand for the whereabouts of her planner, but one of the level coordinators, who had been in the middle of nitpicking students for their proper school uniform, had pulled her aside to ask whether she had prepared everything for the tour and the afternoon presentation, to which she replied with a reassuring smile,

"You have nothing to worry about, sensei. I've got everything under control."

Rikkai was on its toes. The faculty members were on the hunt for students who were not in their proper school uniforms and were exhibiting improper behavior. When she saw Sonoda about to walk himself to a wall after Masafumi-sensei had given his final instructions, Ono figured she needed to pull herself together lest Sonoda would unknowingly bury the entire Student Council in a hole if he didn't get over himself.

Planner or no planner, it didn't take much for her to return to bossing people around.

A reminder was sent to all club presidents regarding preparations for the tour. The school caretakers were asked to make sure all walkways were cleared of any debris and all hallways were spic and span before the guests arrived. With the help of the broadcasting club, both the students and faculty were reminded to exhibit their best behavior when the visitors would conduct their door-to-door visits—no horse-playing, no running, no foul-mouthing, and absolutely no slacking-off.

So it came as somewhat of a surprise to Ono when she encountered a group of freshmen huddled in the corner of the hallway a few minutes after the homeroom bell rang.

"Shit, he's heavy."

"What the fuck does the tennis club eat, anyway?"

"What happened?" she asked, her eyes pinned on the unconscious student supported by two other freshmen. He looked familiar. Both freshmen had momentarily stared at her wide-eyed, as she wordlessly pressed her palm against the sick freshman's forehead to check his temperature.

"A-ah, he doesn't have a fever or anything, senpai," one of them clarified. "But he did faint in class."

"It must be exhaustion from tennis practice. The tournaments are coming up, after all. I hear their training's crazier than usual."

Ono schooled her expression into that of a look of concern as she wiped the beads of sweat trickling down his face with her handkerchief. "He's sweating a lot. Let's get him to the infirmary. I'll go ahead and inform the nurse."

She made haste and rushed to the infirmary, where she was greeted by a line of girls waiting outside the adjacent girl's bathroom. They were a mixture of freshmen and junior girls, which made her wonder what prompted her fellow juniors to cross floors when they had bathrooms conveniently located near the classrooms.

"Ako! Are the accreditors here?" One of her classmates called out when she saw her approach.

"They'll arrive in the afternoon." Ono smiled, then assessed the long line, her question left hanging in the air.

"If you're wondering," her classmate started, frowning. "The second floor bathroom is currently unavailable."

"Unavailable?" Ono's eyebrows rose. "You can't get in the bathrooms? Are there barricades?"

"No, no barricades." She shook her head. "It's just that the people are taking forever to do their business. It must have been something they ate this morning," she pleasantly laughed off, and then her attention was diverted to the group which had trailed after Ono. "O-oh no! Is that Sanada-kun? What happened to him?"

She wasn't the only one who noticed him, unfortunately. The rest of the girls in line had suddenly taken an interest at such an unexpected happening that a couple of them had taken out their cellphones and started snapping photos of Sanada. After _nicely_ telling the other girls off for taking photos and assisting poor Sanada to the infirmary, all thoughts about the odd happening were pushed to the back of her mind.

She had more important matters to attend to.

.

.

.

『 11:00 A.M. – Final preparations 』

.

.

.

By the end of third period, news that Sanada fainted in his seat like a wilting daisy spread like wildfire across year levels. While the rest of the student body was preoccupied with this update, Ono was undeterred by the gossip and made several rounds around campus, making sure that everything was set before the WASC accreditors arrived.

Ono leaned over an open window in one of the first floor hallways and simply watched the groups of students enjoying their bentos in the courtyard. Her previously syncopated heartbeat had decelerated to a more regular rhythm, her lungs filling with fresh air as she finally took the time to pause, to slow down, to _breathe_.

Everything was going according to plan.

From the corner of her eye, she watched a freshman step out of one of the conference rooms in the hall. She tilted her head towards his general direction, and waited to be addressed; she wasn't disappointed.

"The conference hall is all set, senpai."

"Thank you," Ono was quick to plaster on a smile as she took in his appearance: a tall brunet donning a pair of eyeglasses. There was a pause as she second-guessed her next course of action. "You're Yagyuu Hiroshi of I-A?"

Yagyuu merely smiled in confirmation. It was an empathic smile, which as usual did _not_ sit well with her. "Were you able to talk Niou-kun?"

At the mention of Niou, Ono had to exert effort to keep her smile in place. "No." A calculated sigh, as if to let him know the troubles she had to go through because of the said boy. "I dropped by his room earlier, but he wasn't there."

There was something different in Yagyuu's smile that piqued her interest. "He has detention for violating the dress code."

"Even during lunchtime?"

"It appears Masafumi-sensei is intent on keeping him away from sight for as long as we have visitors here."

"I see," was all she said, an odd sense of gratification welling up in her chest upon hearing the news. However, she was nonchalant in saying, "I've been asking around for him, but no one could tell me where he was."

"You appear to have asked the wrong people, unfortunately."

"That's true," Ono conceded, her smile still intact. "You seem to be very close to Niou-kun, Yagyuu-kun."

"That's to be expected, senpai." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "We are partners, after all."

"Of course."

Their conversation lulled into an awkward silence as Ono racked her brain. How was she going to save her tarnished image in Yagyuu's eyes? Unlike Niou whose reputation as a Trickster immediately subjected everything that came out of his mouth to further evaluation, and in turn, invalidation if proven _bullshit_ , Yagyuu Hiroshi was a well-respected member of the Rikkai community whose words had power to plant seeds of doubt.

"Listen, about the phone call…" She tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, her expression softening into something sheepish. She also let her gaze stray from Yagyuu to her shoes, in an attempt to look awkward. Looking up, she noted that she seemed to have gotten his full attention, as well as her desired reaction: charmed. Good. "I apologize for sounding so… _uncouth_. In the phone. Last Sunday? You know how people tend to say stupid things when under a lot of stress. The thing with the stilettos, well, that was _totally_ uncalled for," she elaborated, making sure she looked like she had never hurt a fly in her life, much less inflict pain on an actual human being . "I mean I never meant any of it."

Yagyuu only smiled as she rambled on.

"I would never do something like that," she breathed, slowly looking up and batting her eyelashes, one, two, three times more than usual.

"Of course. It would be very unlike you to resort to violence over such a small thing," was Yagyuu's quick affirmation, which prompted Ono to smile only wider. "But I won't put it past you if you did."

The corner of Ono's mouth twitched downward almost imperceptibly, but she hid it by asking, "What do you mean?"

"Human behavior," he started, pushing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "…is a peculiar but interesting thing. Most people are fond of embracing the idea that there is an unbridgeable spasm between good and evil. But there's a flaw in that logic because we are dynamic creatures." He paused, smiling softly. "There are instances, powerful situational forces that push us to do things we never imagined we'll ever do." (4)

A dozen thoughts crossed Ono's mind as she watched him with heightened interest. All of a sudden, Yagyuu's presence was ominous. "And you think it is justifiable that I would act… _brutishly_ … given the situation?"

"I speak hypothetically, of course," Yagyuu tugged at his collar. "But personally I would prefer if senpai can spare my partner since the tournaments are coming up, and I would really like for us to have a shot to represent the team in the Nationals." He smiled gently. "I hope I didn't speak out of turn or anything."

Just then a gaggle of freshmen poured out from the nearby classroom, and one of them in her haste bumped into Yagyuu, who was standing near the doors, and spilt her orange juice on his uniform. The next few moments was a scuffle of movements, with the girl profusely apologizing to Yagyuu who was busy wiping the stain on his polo with the handkerchief Ono had been quick to offer. After managing to convince the girl that it was fine, Yagyuu had excused himself from the crowd to go tidy himself up in the washroom. He had been ill at ease when Ono closed the distance between them and attempted to help him with the mess, but she did not think too much about it.

After Yagyuu's departure, thoughts about him and Niou were momentarily swept under the rug. She noticed the sudden heightened energy in the halls. Even the freshmen eating their lunch in the courtyard were on their feet and were headed towards the direction of the school gates, the seeming epicenter of brewing trouble. Imaginary alarms had been set off in her head when a stream of other students trailed behind, their faces jubilant.

"Have you seen it?"

"Fukuda said it looked something out of a horror movie!"

"Come on, hurry up!"

She felt her cellphone vibrating in her pocket as she rushed to where everybody else was headed.

"Uran, what's happening?" She pressed her cellphone against her ear, straining to hear her friend's voice.

" _Have you seen the fountains?"_

"No." Ono hastened her pace as more students walked past her and were apparently headed to the courtyards as well. "Should I be worried?"

" _See it for yourself. Gods, Furuki-senpai is going to lose his shit once he finds out. He's worked so hard to get the money for those."_

A large group of students had already crowded the pathways leading to the fountains. Her expression was of muted anticipation as she walked with her head held high—she was well aware that everyone's attention was momentarily diverted to her. The rest of the students were quick to give way until she stopped right in front of the fountain. The tension in the air was heavy, almost palpable as everyone gathered in the area turned quiet upon her arrival.

The water in the fountain was blood red, with spurts falling in arcs from the vase held by a beautiful female angel with impressive wings. She watched the water fall onto the surface, where a decapitated mannequin covered in red ink was floating in circles, and the rest of its limbs bobbing up and down as the pressure of the cascading water splattered upon them. (5)

"It's food coloring," a student piped in, torn between looking disturbed and amused. "Halloween came early in Rikkai eh, Ono-san?"

"It looks gruesome," a girl squeaked, while taking photos of the scene. "Reminds me so much of a murder scene."

"Who would do something like this?"

Her phone brought her out of her momentary stupor, and she could once again feel her heartbeat ramming haphazardly against her chest as she pressed the phone against her ear, dreading. "Sonoda-senpai."

" _They're here."_

Ono closed her eyes and counted to ten, willing her breathing to become slow and even.

.

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『 12:00 NN – Arrival of the WASC Accreditors 』

『 12:30 PM – Campus Tour 』

『 2:00 PM – Meeting 』

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What happened next was a blur, and this was saying something, especially for Ono who had an almost obsessive attention to the littlest detail. But in that moment between flying to the gates to be part of the welcoming entourage for the accreditors, dealing with all the unexpected shit that suddenly decided to plop down on her from god knows where, and digging herself a hole and lying in there until everything comes to pass, she had come to realize how close she was from exploding into a fit of rage and burning the school down.

It was a struggle to stop herself from snapping at the incompetence of the committee members.

As if fate hasn't had enough, she had also learned that the water in the swimming pools was also dyed an awful blood red that swimming classes had to be postponed, a heinous odor resembling that of a rotting corpse wafted throughout the hallways and seemed to come heavily from one of the air vents in the cafeteria, and a recording of a hair-raising struggle of a girl being chopped into pieces was played on loop, her disembodied screams resonating all throughout campus. (6)

It was chaos.

The remaining members of the faculty who were not part of the entourage ushered all loitering students, who was having a field day because of the new developments, back into their respective classrooms. Ono and the rest of the Student Council as well as select committee members were excused from afternoon classes to help in remedying the situation. The pool was drained, the dead rats were extricated from the vents, and the mysterious disc inserted in the player wired to the campus' broadcasting system was broken into shards.

There was power in numbers, Ono thought, as she observed all ongoing movement from the rooftop, with all the committee members running around campus to undo the mess. While Sonoda redirected the route of the tour with Masafumi-sensei's approval, Ono worked in the sidelines, her walkie-talkie poised in front of her as she muttered instructions.

After half an hour of collective effort, some semblance of control was finally obtained, and just in time for the accreditors stepping foot inside the building for the afternoon meeting. While Masafumi-sensei and a pair of administrative members dressed in their business attires preoccupied the visitors with a detailed history of Rikkaidai over their finger food, Ono stood in one corner of the room and quietly collected herself.

A short introduction about the Student Council members was provided by the level coordinator, then Ono was ushered in front to talk about student life in Rikkai.

"Please take your seats."

Four words that triggered a land mine.

Ono stood frozen by the podium as she watched every single one of the WASC Accreditors and members of the administration topple helplessly onto the carpet, some of them lying sprawled on the floor, looking completely undignified. Their cushioned seats had apparently been unscrewed from the legs supporting the chairs. The rest of the Student Council members, who were the only ones that remained safe on their untampered seats, stared at her, horrified, and completely at a loss of what to do.

"Ono!" Masafumi-sensei roared from his position under the table.

She breathed deeply.

Her eyes were beginning to sting.

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『 3:30 PM – Dismissal 』

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.

The issue with her missing planner seemed to be a thing of the past now.

In a matter of one day, Ono had progressed from sulking like a kid who lost her candy to sneaking around campus like a member of a reconnaissance team tasked to recover a lost territory to an unrelenting hurricane as she swept past the hallways, leaving a couple of bewildered schoolmates in her wake. One, two, three flights of stairs and a deserted corridor, her movements were steadfast as the friction between her indoor shoes and linoleum tiles was the only sound heard in the silence.

After helping the adults from their unbecoming positions on the floor, the council members had handed each one of them a glass of refreshment to ease their nerves. But every consequent action on their part seemed only seemed to dig them a deeper hole because a moment later, a couple of the adults were hunched over their seats, groaning in pain shooting from their churning bowels. Ono and Kobayashi were quick to direct them to the nearest bathrooms.

Where the cubicles were all occupied.

During class hours.

Ono was so close to banging on the doors, but instead managed to make herself rap her knuckles against the doors. There was no response.

With the pressure of appeasing the guest standing impatiently behind her, she was forced to do something she wouldn't normally do. Coupled with the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the sheer anger that had steadily built up inside of her, she was able to gather the bravado to climb up the nearby counters and peer down the cubicles.

.

.

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They were all empty.

Save for a pair of legs placed against the toilet bowl. (7) Legs donning a pair of pants similar in shade to the Rikkai uniform, as well as a pair of shoes.

In a mixture of fury and desperation, she attempted to hop over the cubicles, but to no avail, only looked like a fool trying to get her legs over. She then opted to clamber down the counters and kicked the doors open, to the surprise of Kobayashi and their American companion. She cleared the cubicle by grabbing the pair of legs, and consequently informed the authorities of what was apparently an elaborate and outrageous plan to sabotage that day's accreditation.

All suspicion fell upon one name alone.

The classroom door slid open with a loud thud.

The room was empty, apart from the lone student sitting quietly in the farthest corner of the room.

Niou looked up from the book he was reading, and grinned.

Ono boldly strode over to his seat, her face unreadable as she dropped the prosthesis atop the open book. When he didn't respond and simply stared at the horrifying slab of metal and plastic vaguely resembling a human leg, as if it was the first time he had ever seen something like it in his life, she totally lost it: she grabbed his shirt by the collar and jerked him towards her, closing the distance until her face was only a hair's breadth from his. Suddenly, she was well aware of the steeper incline of his cheeks, the small dot drawn in black ink at the corner of his eye, and his eyes which were a sparkling shade of silver instead of icy blue.

She dropped him back in his seat, dumbfounded.

"Where's Niou-kun?" she whispered after a lengthy pause.

The pseudo-Niou looked at her curiously. "Ono-senpai."

She bristled, his baritone a foreign inflection to her ears, and his address a stark difference from the nickname she had grown accustomed to over time. _Oni-senpai_ , that's what he called her. Her memory jogged back to a particular encounter in the hallway earlier that day, an encounter between a certain tall brunet in glasses, whose normally harmless aura morphed into that of something that made her skin crawl.

She stared at pseudo-Niou, who unlike the real Niou, could not seem to hold her gaze.

Bits and pieces started to fall into place.

Why Niou had been adamant to keep his hair color. Why the conference room, which she had prepared beforehand with some help, turned disastrous. How he was able to have freedom in wreaking havoc without suspicion during class hours, as the class representatives ran around school all day, trying to remedy the situation _he_ started in the first place. All of them, duped. Without any knowledge that the perpetrator had been among them all this time.

" _That's to be expected, senpai."_

 _He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose._

" _We are partners, after all."_

"Yagyuu Hiroshi."

Her voice was level, all energy drained, as she stared at the boy studying her intently. He was no longer surprised when she addressed him, as if he had come to realize in that brief encounter that Ono Sakurako was closer to uncovering Niou than anyone had ever dared to. Her anger had dissipated, and instead, she simply looked tired, weary from having to wrestle her way through everything that had happened that day. She no longer had the presence of mind to even put a pretense in front of the Gentleman.

So maybe she hadn't been the most gracious when it came to Niou. Maybe, injuring him before their ranking tournaments for cutting her hair, which was done out of good intentions, hadn't been the best way to thank him for helping her out. Maybe, disturbing tennis club's activities had been out of the line. And the strict implementation of the dress code, which she proposed? It was necessary. Perhaps petty.

But these were trifles—and in her defense, completely justified—as compared to his excessive bullying.

And now _this?_ This elaborate plan to ruin both her and Rikkaidai's good reputation.

She honestly tried to make sense of Niou's line of thinking. What could have possibly pushed him to these things, in his words, "powerful situational forces" that drove him over the edge?

"Why?" was all she could muster when her mind drew to a complete blank.

But before she could get her answer, a loud whirring erupted throughout the building, and then it was only a matter of moments that they were drenched from the sprinklers on the ceiling. Yagyuu had already gotten on his feet, which prompted Ono to immediately and unabashedly grab his hand and lock their fingers together.

"You're not going anywhere."

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All three thousand students of Rikkaidai were soaked when they assembled out in the courtyards, dazed and confused as to what was happening. In front of the crowd was Masafumi-sensei, who was profusely apologizing to the American visitors. Following protocol, Sonoda with the other members of the Disciplinary Committee, were in charge of the safe and orderly transit of the students outside the buildings. Meanwhile, Ono stayed put beside Yagyuu, her eyes scanning for any sign of Niou.

"Look!" someone cried, pointing skyward.

A torrential amount of papers fell upon them, and seemed to have come from one of the open windows of the top floor. Students extended their arms to reach for a paper, while others crouched to pick up the ones on the ground.

Ono got ahold of a sheet with her free hand, her eyes hungrily raking through its contents.

It was a newspaper article, an editorial in particular, and it read:

 _September 1 of 20xx holds the largest recorded number of suicide attempts for Rikkai Daigaku Fuzoku Chuugakkou. An increase of 20% has been observed from previous years that it makes us wonder what could have caused this unfortunate happenstance. We will try to look into the similarities and differences of the students involved, with hopes of shedding light on the dispositional and situational factors which prompted these events. The attempts by T*******a and N**u…_

Ono's head snapped up and her eyes met Yagyuu's, who appeared to have been gauging her reaction all this time. She gripped his hand tighter, her voice leaving no room for questions.

"We need to talk."

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 **TBC**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Editing is a pain. So, how was the chapter? Any form of feedback would be lovely. I'm sorry I wasn't able to send out review replies last time, but I'll be sure to reply this time! Again, thank you to those who reviewed, faved, and alerted this humble fic of mine.

 **Extras:**

(1) According to _petmd_ , dark chocolate bars are more dangerous to dogs' health because of the higher levels of a substance (methylxanthines) which inhibits an enzyme (phosphodiesterase) needed in a variety of metabolic processes. Consumption of low levels of chocolate doesn't mean automatic death for our doggies, but higher levels makes it more difficult to remove the toxins, thus a more likely death. Which was what happened to poor Sakurako's dog, I suppose.  
(2) Sweet stewed meat and potatoes is Sakurako's favorite homecooked meal.  
(3) Sitting/squatting applies pressure on the abdomen, and consequently encourages release of the stool. Guys, there's a WikiHow on "How to Hold in Poop in Embarrassing Situations", and it is enlightening.  
(4) Ideas from this lovely book entitled "The Lucifer Effect" written by Philip Zimbardo. A mind-picker.  
(5) A statue of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. I think it was apt to use her, considering Rikkai's "Always win" culture. I leave the interpretation of the blood red water and floating mannequin to you. Maybe it's a picture of the price you have to pay in order to attain that victory? Or something. I suppose you'll get more clues as the story progresses.  
(6) More clues, yay. All linked to death.  
(7) A makeshift prosthesis. Oh, wow. How random, Niou. The question is: is it really random or not?

 **Tally:**

Niou: Cutting her hair + Stunt with Kiriyama + Ruining cred = III Points  
Ono: Inflicting injury + Tennis club issues + Dress code = III Points

 **PS:** How many points are you willing to give Niou for this chapter? :P

 **Up Next:** The aftermath of the storm.


End file.
